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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813962">The Keeper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malliday/pseuds/Malliday'>Malliday</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, F/M, Fantasy AU, Lots of Genres, Mystery, Science Fiction, Shadowhunters Meets Greater Pursuit Meets S2The100, Supernatural Elements, The usual snarky Bellarke Interactions, because i can't help myself, librarian!Bellamy, medical!clarke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:07:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,874</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malliday/pseuds/Malliday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When the tide is at its highest, head north beyond the bluffs and into the sea.</p><p>The lady awaits by the great green stone, searching for the key.</p><p>The Keeper.</p><p>---</p><p>Bellamy couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t surrounded by his research. He’d pursued all of his degrees with the express intent of working at the Library of Congress for a reason, after all. It was his life’s work.</p><p>Finding Octavia.</p><p>And while the police had concluded she had run away, Bellamy knew in his heart that there was more to her disappearance, and that the answer he was seeking lay somewhere inside the relics left by his great-great grandfather.</p><p>Illoria.</p><p>It was everywhere in his grandfather’s writings - A mystical land in the middle of the ocean that he’d claimed to have come across in his sailing adventures. Claims that had gotten him shunned by polite society and forced into the outskirts of the Capitol.</p><p>And while Bellamy couldn’t explain it, something was calling him to these journals. Something that whispered promises of answers, of finding Octavia.</p><p>Whispers.</p><p>"Bellamy," it teased. "It’s time."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>258</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue - Waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>.... hi.</p><p>Yes, it's me. I'm alive. And writing.</p><p>And this is the (for some) long-awaited Fantasy/Sci Fi Bellarke AU multi-chapter fit that I've been promising for over a year.</p><p>Sorry I disappeared, 2020 sucked.</p><p>Anywho.</p><p>If you're still here after the shit show that was S7, I salute you.</p><p>And on that note, enjoy this world where Bellarke are/were/and will always be meant for one another.</p><p>Lots of twists and turns ahead. This is a mystery, so prepare yourself for ALL the cliffhangers.</p><p>Also, no copyright infringement intended for any pics used in the story for aesthetics.</p><p>Without further ado...</p><p>See you on the flip side. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Prologue - Waiting</b>
</p><p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>November 2004 </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Lightning flashed across the floor at his feet and the sound of thunder rocked a nearby ancient light fixture hanging on the wall next to the window. The drops of rain hitting the window panes seemed to be slowing at last, ceasing to almost a lull. His eyes strained somewhat to read the words on the page in front of him, the dim light of the little desk lamp casting only a small glow across the pages of his book.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of little giggles echoing around the stone walls of the basement caused him to briefly lose concentration from his work. He huffed out his own responding chuckle, a small smile forming across his features.</p><p> </p><p>“Octavia,” he admonished playfully. “I know there’s nothing in that corner that's <em>that</em> entertaining.”</p><p> </p><p>Her only response was another giggle, as he could hear his little sister whisper words of play and fantasy while she wandered through the random items his parents kept in storage downstairs. He wasn’t even sure what they kept  in that, admittedly, dusty and dank corner of the cellar, but whatever it was, it must have been enough to capture Octavia’s imagination.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy couldn’t remember the last time he’d had time to sit down like this and actually work on his own school work without having to help Octavia with hers at the same time. Their parents were constantly working, his mom a local school teacher, always working on her next lesson, and his dad an anthropologist who worked at the museum in DC. They were so busy he always seemed to be the one helping Octavia with her homework, but he didn’t fault his parents for it. He knew they worked hard to provide for the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>Still, as he sat in his quiet corner and made notes in the margins of his history textbook, he couldn’t help but appreciate this moment of solitude. </p><p> </p><p>He sat at his great great grandfather’s ancient desk that had gathered more than its share of dust over the years but it did the job. The solid oak table top provided more than enough support for all of his studying materials.</p><p> </p><p>He worked diligently for a little while longer, noting the differences between the ancient civilizations outlined in chapter four before he sat back and removed his glasses, his fingers automatically moving to massage the skin at the bridge of his nose. As much as he loved reading, he sometimes became so engrossed in history, his own focus seemed to give him concentration headaches.</p><p> </p><p>Sighing, he reached up and closed the book, the loud sound of closing covers sending a reverberating sound around the room.</p><p> </p><p>He paused then, realizing  the noise of his textbook was the only noise in the room.</p><p> </p><p>In fact, the room had grown so quiet, only the sound of his own breathing broke the austere silence.</p><p> </p><p>Beneath his skin, he could feel his heart beat rapidly increase.</p><p> </p><p>“O?” he called, his voice noticeably shaking in uncertainty. </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the weird feeling of impending dread that had seeped into his bones. Nothing was wrong, he reasoned. </p><p> </p><p>As he rounded the corner to where she had been playing, he found the space occupied by stacks of wooden crates, some opened, some sealed. Books, papers, and trinkets littered the area but there was no Octavia to be found.</p><p> </p><p>“Octavia!” he called, his head frantically searching side to side, his eyes raking over the crates, following the wall over to another corner where light was drifting in through the ancient basement windows. </p><p> </p><p>“Octavia, this isn’t funny!” he admonished, trying to sound more like a stern adult and less like a scared teenager.</p><p> </p><p>Only, his change in tone didn’t seem to have an effect at all because Octavia didn’t magically appear from behind the cupboard in the corner rolling her eyes at his worry.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, his words were met with more silence from his sister, the sound of rolling thunder in the distance highlighting the absence of girlish giggles.</p><p> </p><p>He sprung forward, darting up the stairs to the top, only to stop suddenly upon reaching the door to the main floor.</p><p> </p><p>It was locked from the inside still.</p><p> </p><p>When they first came down the stairs, they had locked the door. Their own way of ensuring that, even if someone were to find their way into the house, they couldn’t come down the stairs to where the two children were working and playing.</p><p> </p><p>He turned around to face the basement once more, his breathing heavy as he scanned the width of the ancient basement.</p><p> </p><p>“Octavia, I’m serious. Come out right this second.”</p><p> </p><p>Never in his 14 years of life had Bellamy been so scared, his mind racing with scenarios, each more horrendous than the last.</p><p> </p><p>He slowly made his way to the bottom of the stairs and returned to Octavia’s corner, searching behind the crates, inside the ones that had been opened , praying this was Octavia’s idea of a sick, childish prank.</p><p> </p><p>“Octavia!” his voice broke completely, tears of confusion springing to the corners of his eyes as more lightning from the drifting storm flashed through the basement windows, illuminating the cold, stone floor.</p><p> </p><p>As the clouds dissipated outside, bright moonlight flitted in through the basement windows, casting light on the basement floor. A flash caught his attention then, his neck instantly craning to the unexpected flare.</p><p> </p><p>Thunder rumbled as he noticed it - Something was lying on the floor of the basement, the metallic object glinting in the new light.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, he made his way toward it, swallowing down that same impending dread from earlier. Somehow, he knew that this was it. This was the moment his life would change forever. Even as his brain could not compute the fact that his sister was nowhere to be found, his heart knew that she was gone.</p><p> </p><p>Bending down, he picked up the bauble from the ground, the gold surface cold and hard against the soft skin of his hands.</p><p> </p><p>It was a necklace.</p><p> </p><p>It was intricately made, the metal chain composed of solid gold, it’s thin links closing around a large oval pendant that he held in the palm of his hand.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes drank in every detail, the letter C enveloped by flowers of some kind, the detailing sophisticated and ornate.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere, far from Bellamy’s DC suburb, a girl woke suddenly from her sleep, eyes wide, pupils glowing blue.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>....did you miss me?</p><p>-Mally</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Whispers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Sunday Funday and thanks for the warm welcome back into the realm of Fanfic!</p><p>The mystery officially begins today! I'm looking forward to seeing all of your predictions and remember - Everything is not what it seems.</p><p>See you on the flip side ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 1 - Whispers</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b> September 2020</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Astilbe flowers.</p><p> </p><p>That’s what they were called, Bellamy had learned over the years.</p><p> </p><p>Those intricate little engravings that looped and twined around the letter C. It took him a while to figure it out, pouring ceaselessly over texts about flowers in the local library. Eventually, he’d found them. They even had a funny alternate name that had something to do with goats. </p><p> </p><p>Despite his best efforts, figuring out the name of the flowers carved into the emblem of the necklace had done nothing to help Bellamy find his sister.</p><p> </p><p>After Octavia disappeared, his fragile family crumbled into pieces, broken in two, never to be fused together again.</p><p> </p><p>His therapist assured him it wasn’t his fault. He was only 14 and even the police couldn’t figure out what had happened. The fact that his parents secretly blamed him for Octavia’s disappearance and, by extension, their own marital dissolution, had plagued him throughout the majority of his teen years. In spite of his therapist’s reassuring words, it was hard not to drown in guilt when your own parents couldn’t look at you without hiding their anger and disappointment.</p><p> </p><p>As if he didn’t blame himself enough for all of them.</p><p> </p><p>It had been all over the news for weeks.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “7 Year Old Girl Missing, No Leads” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Young Girl Disappears from Locked Basement without a Trace” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The country cried with him, it seemed. There were search parties, helicopters, Lost Child campaigns, the whole nine yards. </p><p> </p><p>But Octavia was still gone.</p><p> </p><p>And as heartbreaking as it had been, the sadness was almost drowned out by the mystery of it all - The intrigue. That’s what had inspired the Netflix special, at least.</p><p> </p><p>A small girl vanished off the face of the Earth, no signs of disturbance, no clues as to where she had gone? No footprints in the front garden, all the doors and windows in the house still locked and closed from the inside? </p><p> </p><p>It was as if she had vanished into thin air.</p><p> </p><p>Which was ludicrous, of course, the truth of it all was that Bellamy had lost her. It was on him. He was supposed to be paying attention and he hadn’t.</p><p> </p><p>And in the blink of an eye, she was gone.</p><p> </p><p>He told the police about the necklace he’d found, but they’d dismissed it as a trinket she found in the crates in the corner as she played.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy knew they were right,, but no one seemed to be as interested as he was in finding out more about it. They threw away the lead as if it were literal garbage, never to be heard of again.</p><p> </p><p>But something told him they were wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Even now, as he sat on the subway tunneling toward DC, he gazed down at the necklace resting in his palm. The “C” with it’s intricately carved astilbe flowers seemed dull in the overhead lighting of the underground tunnel.</p><p> </p><p>The gentle sway of the train lulled him into deep thought, his memories pulling him into a brief moment of reprieve.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>March 2006</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Mom? Dad?” he called, his voice echoing around the foyer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Figured. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> They were never home anymore, why would his 16h birthday be any different? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He sighed, throwing his backpack to the ground by the front door, and made his way into the kitchen.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The countertops were empty, devoid of the usual snacks and random items that he would see in his friends’ houses. It was as if their house was unlived in. He exhaled, unsure of what he was even expecting and walked toward the refrigerator. The same refrigerator which had once been covered with pictures of himself and his sister along with their schoolwork was now bare. It was as if any reminder of the fact that they only had one child now was too much for them to bear on a daily basis. It was remarkable that the two of them were even still living in the same house, he thought. Although, he reasoned, they would probably sell the house and find separate dwellings once he graduated high school. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Well, it won’t be long now.” he thought grimly, his hand finding a cold water bottle inside of the refrigerator. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Slowly, he turned to face the breakfast nook, planning to set up his workstation to get to work on his World History homework when he jolted somewhat in surprise. Sitting on the table was a wrapped package and what appeared to be a birthday card. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Huh,” he thought. “Guess they didn’t completely forget after all.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He reached forward, grabbing the card from atop the gift, and opened it slowly, almost afraid it would give him a paper cut if he were too excited in his motions. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>“Bellamy,</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Happy Birthday, son. Enjoy!</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Love, Mom and Dad”</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He frowned, his head shaking as he tossed the card back onto the table next to the box. Typical.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ripping open the wrapping paper, he was mildly surprised to find a new laptop. This was only moderately interesting and mostly because that meant his parents actually knew enough about him to know that he needed a new computer. The more they ignored him in favor of arguing with one another, the more he had thrown himself into his studies. He had always valued his education anyway, but with Octavia missing, he had nothing else to focus his attention on.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He trashed the paper and took his new laptop with him to his grandfather’s desk in the basement. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That was where he liked to study. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His parents hadn’t understood it. Why would he want to be so close to where they had lost Octavia? It made no sense to them, but for Bellamy, it was his way of being close to her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The steps to the basement creaked as he descended them slowly, box balanced precariously on his hip as he attempted to maneuver it and his book bag into his dark Fortress of Solitude. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sighing, he deposited both on the desktop, his fingers finding the edges of the new box, toying with the packing tape keeping it together. He pursed his lips, his eyes staring intently out the basement window to where the sun was already beginning to set. He could see the storm clouds settling in the distance and knew that he was in for another lonely, rainy night studying in the basement. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He hated the rain. It reminded him of his failure to protect his baby sister. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Plopping down in the desk chair, he set about opening his new gift and engrossing himself in his studies, as he usually did in his efforts to forget his troubles for a little while. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It wasn’t long before his mind started drifting to the crates in the corner yet again, forgotten and undisturbed. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The police hadn’t even bothered going through them in their quest to find Octavia, which Bellamy had thought was pretty irresponsible of them. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “What clues would possibly lay in crates that had been sitting unmolested for over a hundred years?” they had reasoned. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Biting down on his lower lip, he willed his brain to refocus on the history book in front of him. He knew that he wasn’t allowed in that corner. If his parents came home and found him even drifting in its direction, he would be in for a world of trouble. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>But they never come down here. </em> </b> <em> He thought to himself. </em> <b> <em>How would they ever find out?</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant roll of thunder lulled him into a trance of sorts. His eyes followed the steady progression of rain drops as they landed on the old windows. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He startled, jerking slightly in his seat at what was unmistakably his own name. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Was he hearing voices now? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The strange hiss of what sounded like whispers started to creep into the edges of his subconscious, voices that sounded light and airy, whispering. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Whispering his name. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His hands moved to grip his hair, squeezing, trying to rid his brain of the obvious illusion. His eyes shut in concentration, but it seemed like the more he resisted, the louder the strange whispers became. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His eyes shot open and he stood up in his chair. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Octavia? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He turned frantically looking around the room, searching for the source of the cacophony of noise. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What was this? Some sick prank? Did his parents get a new television he wasn’t aware of? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Step by step, his feet seemed to take him on a course of discovery, his eyes roaming along the walls, searching for any sort of sign until suddenly, they stopped. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The crates. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Had that one always been open? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He couldn’t remember. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His right hand instinctively reached into the pocket of his jacket, his fingers clasping around cool metal as he withdrew the trinket from inside. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A beautiful, metallic letter “C,” encased in flowers. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And it was glowing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He dropped it in his surprise, the light suddenly glowing more brightly, illuminating the room with it’s warm hue. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The whispers. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> They were coming from the necklace. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Go.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> In spite of his confusion, something inside of him understood. Knew what the voice was urging him to do. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His eyes moved from the necklace on the floor to the crates in the corner. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Go. </em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He swallowed and moved slowly toward the aged wooden boxes, almost against his own will. It was as if he lost control of his own body and the beckoning voices took over his instinctual movements. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> As he approached it, he became more and more sure that the crate to the left had never been opened. He had looked longingly to this corner many times over the past two years and never once had he noticed it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was then he noticed the whispers grew louder the closer he moved toward the crate, the tone of the voices growing urgent and excited all at once until they were so loud he could no longer hear the rain. It was drowned out by the gentle urging of the whispers. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His hand reached out, pushing aside the lid of the crate to reveal the contents inside, his fingers finding the smooth, cool leather on top. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A small chuckle and then - Nothing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The voices were gone. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The ungodly quiet of the basement was unnerving after the assault on his senses, the thunder now audible again in the distance. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He pulled the object out, his hands holding it gently around the middle. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Deftly, he flipped it over and read the gold words etched into the cover. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was a journal. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The sharp ding of the railway pulled him from his musings and drew his eyes to the scrolling list of stops.</p><p> </p><p>“Gallery Place” flashed across the screen prompting his quick movements as he gathered his belongings and prepared to exit the Metro.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled on the strap of his leather bag as he felt the train begin to slow on the tracks. </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t thought about that day in so long, but It was <em> on </em> that day, his 16th birthday, when his life changed.</p><p> </p><p>At 30, he knew that he’d likely imagined the whispers as a manifestation of his own internal desire to snoop in his grandfather’s belongings (at least that’s what his therapist had reasoned), but those little surreal voices changed everything.</p><p> </p><p>He’d started pulling the books and papers from the crates that day and little by little he’d started studying them intently. As he poured over the pages of written material, he knew somehow these crates were important. That the contents were important.</p><p> </p><p>None more important than the Journal.</p><p> </p><p>As the train came to its stop, he pulled the necklace he still carried with him from his pocket and fisted it tightly, pondering as the doors slid open.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Good morning, Mr. Blake,” a smooth voice greeted him as he entered the building, the bright blue eyes smiling at him from behind thick-rimmed, stylish glasses.</p><p> </p><p>“Bree.” he nodded, his voice more of a huff than he intended but he shrugged it off and continued his route through the maze of desks that circled the room.</p><p> </p><p>He breathed in deeply, the smell of old paper assaulting his senses as he progressed through the building, heading for his office.</p><p> </p><p>Still somehow frazzled by his own memories, he shook his head trying to snap himself from his haze. Today was a day he would actually have some personal time at work to research his own interests. It was provided to all employees of the Library of Congress - Time set aside to pursue personal interests. </p><p> </p><p>It hadn’t been too altogether surprising to his parents when he’d told them of his plans to work at The Library. He’d always been a studious kid and whatever it took to get him out of the house, they were unboard with.</p><p> </p><p>Granted, they likely wouldn't approve of the amount of time he utilized the library’s vast resources to research his great-great grandfather.</p><p> </p><p>They never found out about his intense interest in the crates, but then again, they avoided him and the basement both like the plague.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy had even chosen his life path around those crates and they still hadn’t come to the realization.</p><p> </p><p>No matter, he reasoned, it’s not like he even saw them anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’d graduated college, his parents agreed to let him continue to live in the house and pay rent while they both found places of their own, closer to the city.</p><p> </p><p>He loved D.C. as much as the next history nerd, but no part of him wanted to live so close to a city that had so viciously and ruthlessly shunned his grandfather, a man who’d once been of great prominence, to the outskirts of its boundaries in an effort to silence what they deemed to be his “incoherent, mad ramblings.”</p><p> </p><p>But he still took the train in five days a week to work at The Library. That, he rationalized, was acceptable due to his need for the massive amount of ancient texts that could potentially hold the answers he was looking for.</p><p> </p><p>The ones that could decode his grandfather’s journal.</p><p> </p><p>The ones that could lead him to Octavia.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>---</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It’s almost like he couldn’t help the deep sigh that escaped his lips as he collapsed back in his chair. This was the nature of the beast for what he was doing on a day to day basis. Pour ceaselessly over a variety of texts from multiple time periods, find a lead, pursue said lead, come up with nothing eventually.</p><p> </p><p>This one had been promising, he would admit. So promising that he almost dared to hope.</p><p> </p><p>And hoping was a dangerous business when you were looking for a lost civilization.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me guess, Atlantis still evading you?” a slightly amused drawl came from the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>He reached up, removing his glasses, and eyed his visitor with as much disdain as he could muster.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not Atlantis, Miller, it’s called Illoria.” he corrected, as if it mattered.</p><p> </p><p>Over the years, he’d come to realize just how bad it must have been for his great-great grandfather back in the day. For all intents and purposes, people were much more accepting now and yet, they mocked Bellamy for his intellectual pursuits. He supposed that it was hard for them to imagine the existence of a technologically advanced society that was somewhere lost in the North Atlantic that hadn’t yet been discovered by modern mankind.</p><p> </p><p>At least with Miller, he kept the mocking to a minimum and just referred to it as “Atlantis.” Illoria was, he reasoned, possibly what had spawned the myths about Atlantis anyway. All he had to do was prove it.</p><p> </p><p>Miller chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, got it. You going to be here much longer? I was going to lock up and then head to The Ark for a brew. Wanna join?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy eyed the texts in front of him. He should probably put all of his research aside for the evening, considering it was much later than he had anticipated on staying, but he still had one more text that he wanted to look at.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah.” he shook his head lightly. “Not quite done with this bread crumb trail.”</p><p> </p><p>Miller nodded, his hand coming up to rest on the door frame as he leaned against it. </p><p> </p><p>“I get it,” he empathized.</p><p> </p><p>And Bellamy knew that he did. </p><p> </p><p>Miller was one of the only friends he had in DC. Someone who understood that his life’s work was about more than just scholarly discovery. It was about something greater.</p><p> </p><p>“Listen.” Miller started. “One day, when you find the map to this place, don’t do anything unreasonable, okay? Text me. At least then you’ll have someone with you when you sail to the end of the Earth.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy smirked.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the <em> center </em> of the Earth, Miller. If you’re going to compare my very real life situation to a novel, at least have the sense to make the comparison accurate.”</p><p> </p><p>With a roll of his eyes, Miller pushed off the door frame.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever.” he started to walk away but his voice drifted back to Bellamy from down the hallway. “And by the way, I was comparing you to a MOVIE. Who even knows that’s a book besides you?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy smiled for the first time that day, shaking his head at his friend. He reached forward, his hand falling on the book before him as he considered the rest of the night. If Miller was leaving that meant the night time security guard would be coming in and he had a much less friendly relationship with Cage Wallace. He pursed his lips. Hopefully, he would finish up soon.</p><p> </p><p>The last book in his stack was a medical log of some wartime doctor during World War I. He found a reference to it in a different medical journal and spent the better part of the day sniffing this particular log out of the stacks. It had been covered in dust, untouched for decades, he had no doubts.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled it toward him and blew lightly at the cover, dust rising up and drifting away from the leather. As he opened it, he noticed that the pages looked mostly preserved, further evidence that the book hadn’t been opened in a very long time.</p><p> </p><p>Biting down on his bottom lip, he flipped through the pages, skimming, his eyes pouring over the words on the page like water, searching for keywords, phrases that might indicate the particular patient he was interested in.</p><p> </p><p>He flipped for a while, his hopes diminishing little by little until suddenly, he stopped.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Illoria </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There it was.</p><p> </p><p>Written out in tiny scrawled lettering, the name of the place that haunted both his dreams and his nightmares.</p><p> </p><p>He sat up in his seat, his eyes drinking in every detail of the medical log entry.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> August 3, 1916 </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> Today’s Patient: Air Force Ace Thomas Grant </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> Illness: Delusion, Possible Shell Shock </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> The patient seemed to be in mostly optimum physical health considering the condition in which he was found. A hospital on the coast of southern Florida found him adrift in a boat off the shore, unconscious. Upon discovery of his tags, I was called in to confirm identification and to debrief the soldier on his mission. Patient appears to be suffering mentally, possible result of shell shock from his crash into the ocean. He is uncertain as to how he came to be on the boat or the location of his plane. He seemed certain that he was captured and experimented on, but there was no reasonable evidence of this. Most of his language was incoherent, as it was. His interrupted sentences were interspersed with the repetition of a single word: Illoria. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> Patient was transferred to a mental health asylum in Virginia to receive proper medical attention. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>And that was it.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy flipped back and forth to the pages before and after the entry, but there was no more information.</p><p> </p><p>His heart was racing and his palms were beginning to sweat, the result of the adrenaline running through his system.</p><p> </p><p>It was rare for him to find mentions referring to the civilization by its name. His eyes landed on the name of the soldier. Thomas Grant.</p><p> </p><p>He pushed away from his study desk and raced to the corner of the room where the computers were located next to the wall.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thomas Grant, Air Force, World War 1 </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Waiting impatiently, he threw his glasses back on his face, once again daring to hope for some sort of hint. This was the best lead he’d had in <em> years. </em> Surely it would lead to <em> something. </em></p><p> </p><p>The computer finally stopped loading, the results appearing on the screen.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 1 result </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Military Journal: World War I Ace Thomas Grant, donated by University of Virginia </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He had stopped breathing, he realized a moment later, waiting for the results. Now that they were on the screen before him, he was paralyzed.</p><p> </p><p>Could it be? Could he actually have finally found something significant? What were the chances that this was the same man the doctor had written about? Or that the journal was even written after the incident in 1916?</p><p> </p><p>There was only one way to find out, he supposed.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly, he wrote down the book’s location and pushed away from the computer desk, his pulse beating wildly as he practically ran through the halls of the library toward Special Collections.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, it was so late, there weren’t very many people still at work to see his display of desperation. Although, he did get one especially heated glare from the evening librarian at the entrance to the collections.</p><p> </p><p>His fingers traced the spines of the books as he moved slowly down the narrow hallway, each of these books seemed to be older than the last, peeling edges fraying underneath his fingertips.</p><p> </p><p>He moved for what seemed to be an eternity until he stopped, recognizing the numbers under his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>It was a simple, unassuming text. Thin and likely unnoticed by the majority of passersby. His fingers shook as he reached for it, pulling it from the top of its spine and freeing it from the shelf.</p><p> </p><p>As it turned in his hands, he read only the word “Diary” across the front. It really looked no different than any other journal he’d seen from this time period yet, something inside him could feel it was special. And whether that was misplaced hope or not, he couldn’t help his own instinct.</p><p> </p><p>That instinct had been guiding him for over a decade now and he wasn’t about to stop now.</p><p> </p><p>He held the book gingerly as he walked to the table in the corner, setting it on top as he practically fell into the chair behind it.</p><p> </p><p>Upon opening the first page, he was greeted with the label.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thomas Grant, 1919, Recovery Journal </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Realizing then that the journal was written three years after the wartime incident, Bellamy almost cried tears of joy.</p><p> </p><p>He flipped into research mode, his eyes once again scanning the pages of the journal. The first few entries were about his current situation at the time. He was apparently still in the mental hospital in Virginia at the time of the journal’s writing and he was being forced to write as a part of his treatment. </p><p> </p><p>He kept reading, realizing that Thomas had been in the hospital for the entirety of the three years but was soon to be released. The war had ended and the doctors had deemed him recovered from his shell shock, but they felt like journaling would be a good exercise to rid his mind of lingering ‘demons.’ Or at least that is how they had referred to his memories.</p><p> </p><p>He paused.</p><p> </p><p>An entry almost midway through the journal caught his attention. </p><p> </p><p>For the second time in a single day, he saw it - <em> Illoria. </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> March 3 1919 </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> I suppose today is a better time than any to rid myself of my greatest demon. Memories of an incident that I am told never happened. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> It is most interesting to me that in spite of the doctors’ repeated insistence of my own delusions that these memories are more clear to me than most all others of my time in combat. And yet, I’m assured that these recollections are all the ramblings of a deranged man suffering from shell shock after his plane crashed into the Atlantic. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> And while I believe them, I cannot seem to shake these particular scenes. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> So it is my greatest wish that I can write them on these pages and never think of them again. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> I was on a mission, flying over the North Atlantic ocean - The Devil’s Triangle. I was  frightened simply headed into this mission as I had heard the stories of this particular stretch of ocean, and yet, my commanders assured me that these waters were flown over most often without any sort of trouble or disturbance. However, that was not to be true for my own mission. All seemed well as I entered the triangle until I reached around 50 nautical miles. Quite suddenly, all of my instruments began to shake, no longer providing readouts to my speed or location. It was the most terrifying situation that I had never encountered. The warning lights all around me were shining and the next thing I knew, everything was black. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> I met the most disconcerting sight upon waking that to this very day I have trouble believing was not real. Upon opening my eyes, I caught sight of a woman in a white coat, much like that of a physician. She was not looking at me, but rather at the notebook in her hands. On the left side of her vest was a small badge. I could not read much but I did see, in very fanciful writing, a name - Illoria. A moment later, a man walked in to join her. He was not dressed in white, but that is all I remember. She turned to the man and stated “He is not the one.” The man turned and left before the woman turned in my direction once more. I saw that, under her coat, she wore a blue dress. Her eyes met mine and she assured me, “Time to go home now” - And then all was dark once more. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> When next I awoke, I was in a hospital bed in southern Florida. Completely unawares as to how I arrived. Since then, I have been here - In this hospital. I know now that the entire affair was merely a dream that I imagined after my plane crashed. I only wish I knew how I came to be on the captainless vessel off the coast of Florida where they found me. For all I remember is the dream. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> Perhaps one day, the true memories will find me once more. Until then, I shall look upon those artificial memories as what they truly are - A beautiful product of my imagining. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>By the time he finished reading the entry, Bellamy’s breathing had grown suspiciously even. </p><p> </p><p>He flipped to the next page. And then the next. And the next. But the pilot never mentioned Illoria again. He truly believed his own memories to be a dream.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, he probably would have to. And he could imagine that a doctor in 2020 might believe them to be fictional as well.</p><p> </p><p>He placed the diary back on the table and steepled his fingers as his elbows rested on top of its pages.</p><p> </p><p>What should he do with this information? Was this simply another informative dead end? He knew a vague idea of where the pilot had been flying, but nothing more.</p><p> </p><p>He exhaled and pushed off the table, his sudden movements causing the journal to fall to the ground, face down.</p><p> </p><p>His hands rubbed his tired eyes as he shook his head and reached down to pick it up from the ground. When he turned it right side up in his hands, he noticed unexpectedly that a small slip of paper had fallen half way out of the space between the back cover and the final page of the diary. Upon further inspection, he realized that the folded piece of paper was tucked inside what appeared to be a hidden pocket, hastily cut into the leather of the back cover.</p><p> </p><p>Furrowing his brows, he pulled the paper from the pocket completely and placed the journal on the table.</p><p> </p><p>Carefully, he unfolded the old memo and read.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 24°50'58.4"N  74°57'11.4"W </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A location. Latitude and Longitude.</p><p> </p><p>But to where?</p><p> </p><p>Grabbing the diary, he quickly hastened back to his own work space, once more finding the computer in the corner.</p><p> </p><p>Pulling up Google Maps, he inserted the location markers.</p><p> </p><p>And was met with the vast emptiness of the Atlantic Ocean.</p><p> </p><p>A location to nowhere?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>He started, his eyes roaming across the room, searching for the source of the voice he had heard.</p><p> </p><p>But there was no one to be found.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The creaking of the front door sounded thunderous in the quiet darkness of his childhood home as he pushed it open.</p><p> </p><p>He placed his keys on the hook next to it and sat his bag on the floor beside the entry table, but his fingers were still closed tightly on the small slip of paper he had found in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t been able to let go of it since he’d found it, afraid that if he did, it would somehow disappear and he would find that he’d imagined even finding it at all.</p><p> </p><p>The soft couch in the living room had never seemed more inviting as he plopped down onto its cushions, sighing deeply as he pondered what to do next.</p><p> </p><p>What to do with the location.</p><p> </p><p>Looking up at the clock on the wall, he could see that it was almost midnight.</p><p> </p><p>It was almost his 30th birthday.</p><p> </p><p>He snorted at the thought. His birthdays stopped having meaning long ago. The laptop he had received on his sixteenth birthday was really the last big recognition of his age that he could remember. Sure, he had friends, and he and his friends would go out to eat or drink in celebration, but even that lost its appeal somewhere around 26.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Jolting upright, he looked around again to find nothing.</p><p> </p><p><em> No, </em> he thought to himself, closing his eyes against the cacophony of whispers he could hear. <em> Not again. You’re imagining things, Blake. Snap out of it. </em></p><p> </p><p><b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b> The whispers taunted him once more. <b> <em>It’s time.</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>His hands reached up, grabbing at his hair, fighting the urge to pull it just to give himself something else to concentrate on. They sounded so real. It was as if he could reach out and touch them.</p><p> </p><p>The whispers only grew louder, the ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to be the only noise capable of breaking through their barrage. It acted as a steady, staccato beat in the background, coaxing the whispers along.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b> it urged. <b> <em>Get up.</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>He found himself standing of his own volition, following his own footsteps to the door of the basement staircase.</p><p> </p><p>The whispers seemed to be getting louder as he made his way down the steps and he was so reminded of his sixteenth birthday that he wondered if this was all a dream and he was about to wake up, having passed out on the living room couch.</p><p> </p><p>A sharp heat in his jacket made him jump and his hand found the necklace in his pocket. Fingers grasping, he pulled it out and into the basement air.</p><p> </p><p>It was glowing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>It was the necklace.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy, you must come. It’s time.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head, willing himself to wake up from this very strange dream. It wasn’t real. That’s what his therapist had told him. Just a young boy trying to make sense of his sister’s disappearance. Necklaces don’t speak.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>She’s in danger.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>His heart clenched in his chest, aching for someone he didn’t even know. Who was <em> she? </em> Octavia? Someone else? Why was this even happening?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>She needs you.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, his grandfather’s journal which had been closed on the desk in the corner, flew open, the pages flying.</p><p> </p><p>His head jerked over to find that the window was still closed, the nighttime wind barred from entering the room.</p><p> </p><p>The pages came to an abrupt stop, settling on an open entry.</p><p> </p><p>Unbidden, he moved toward it. His curiosity outweighed his obvious lack of understanding of an undoubtedly strange and maybe even dangerous situation.</p><p> </p><p>Was he hallucinating? How was this possible?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> How does a small girl disappear from a locked room? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He came to a stop in front of the journal, his hand finding the open page.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Find her.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>And then it was quiet.</p><p> </p><p>The voice. The whispers.</p><p> </p><p>They were gone.</p><p> </p><p>There was nothing but stillness once more.</p><p> </p><p>Leaning forward, he took in the words on the page. He had poured over this journal multiple times over the years, searching for any sort of clue.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, he had never seen this page. These words.</p><p> </p><p>They were.. New?</p><p> </p><p>How?</p><p> </p><p>He swallowed as he read.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> When the tide is at its highest, head north beyond the bluffs and into the sea. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The lady awaits by the great green stone, searching for the key. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The Keeper. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The young woman rose, her feet hastily carrying her to the small living room of her cottage, her pulse flying.</p><p> </p><p>She raced to the old window, unclasped the lock, and pushed the glass panes open to reveal the night sky. The vastness of the darkness spread out over an even darker ocean, the sound of waves crashing on the shore below an ominous promise of what was coming.</p><p> </p><p>Turning to the mirror hanging in the window’s seal, she saw her own reflection, her eyes shining blue, beacons in the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>She calmed, her heartbeat stuttered to its normal rhythm, and she collapsed onto the pillows in the window’s bench.  Waving her hand to the far end of the room, she summoned her tea cup. She watched as it floated in her direction, daintily landing in the palm of her hand.</p><p> </p><p>When she turned to look outside once more, she saw it.</p><p> </p><p>A star twinkling in the distance, glowing suddenly bright before diminishing once more.</p><p> </p><p>She smiled.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was time. </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Time, indeed.</p><p>Time for what?</p><p>Who is the mysterious blue-eyed woman? Will we see her again?</p><p>Will Bellamy be able to find Illoria? Will he take Miller?? And of course, what the hell happened to Octavia???</p><p>Let me know your thoughts in the comments!</p><p>And as always, I'll catch you next Sunday with the new installment of Bellarke Fantasy AU.</p><p>Editing this author’s note, as I’ve been completely remiss in not giving credit to BookwormyThings for beta-ing (not a word?) for me! You’re the bees knees, babe!</p><p>-Mally</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Beyond the Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome back and happy Sunday!</p><p>As we progress through this story, questions will be answered and you'll undoubtedly be left with more questions.</p><p>Just as a forewarning.</p><p>Also, remember this: Everything is not what it seems.</p><p>And that's all you're getting.</p><p>See you on the flip side ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 2 - Beyond the Stone</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
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</p><p>Blearily, he blinked his eyes open, the brightness of the morning sunlight blinding him as it drifted lazily through the open curtains. His mouth felt like cotton, dry and parched. Reaching out an arm, his hand clasped around the bottle of water he kept on his bedside table for mornings just like this one.</p><p> </p><p>Sitting up, he chugged the water, his tongue worked to restore moisture to his cracked, dry lips. He sighed, his eyes slowly finding the open window once more, glaring at the brilliant light.</p><p> </p><p>Quiet suddenly, he remembered the night before.</p><p> </p><p>Instantly, his brain started spinning with thoughts - The whispers, the voice, and... the passage. The strange scrawling in his grandfather’s journal that he’d never seen before. It was undoubtedly his grandfather’s writing, as he had spent the better part of almost two decades studying the man’s writing. Yet, he couldn’t recall having ever seen that particular page before.</p><p> </p><p>The more things that happened to him, the more Bellamy found it increasingly difficult to deny that something very <em> magical </em> seemed to be haunting him.</p><p> </p><p>He immediately shut down the train of thought, refusing to allow himself to head down that road of introspection.</p><p> </p><p>Magic wasn’t real.</p><p> </p><p><em> But how do you explain what’s happening then? </em>he thought to himself.</p><p> </p><p>Shutting off his brain, he pushed the covers of his duvet back and swung his feet around to meet the floor. The coldness of the hardwood helped to further his waking mind as he shook his head, hand now reaching for the phone on his bedside table.</p><p> </p><p>1 new text.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>Miller </em> </b> <em> Hey man, never heard back from you last night. Hope you went home at a reasonable hour. I’m worried about you, bro. Let’s do something later. </em></p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s brow furrowed as he typed his response.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>Bellamy</em> </b> <em> I’m fine, promise. Just got a lot going on with my research. I’ll text you later. </em></p><p> </p><p>It was Saturday so theoretically, he could do something later as he didn’t have to get up early for work the next day, but he was so tired, the thought of going out made him even more exhausted.</p><p> </p><p>He paused, his eyes finding something on the floor that he hadn’t seen before.</p><p> </p><p>The necklace.</p><p> </p><p>How had it gotten there?</p><p> </p><p>Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t even remember how he had made it to bed the night before.</p><p> </p><p>How had <em> he </em> gotten there?</p><p> </p><p>The last thing he could remember was reading the text in his grandfather’s journal, and now, he was waking up in his own bed, the mysterious necklace lying on the floor at his feet.</p><p> </p><p>He bent down to pick it up, the ever-cool feeling of the metal a sharp contrast to the warmth of his palm. The morning sun gleamed off of it, the twinkling reflection of the light running along the wall opposite him.</p><p> </p><p>He stared at the “C” twined with astilbe flowers and wondered for the first time in ages, what it could stand for. A name? If a name, then for what? A person? A place?</p><p> </p><p>Many years ago, he had settled on the fact that it was probably a name. Yet, he had never come across a name starting with C in any of his grandfather’s writings. <em> Surely </em>the owner of the necklace was important enough to warrant a mention by his grandfather. So why hadn’t he ever written about them?</p><p> </p><p>Placing the necklace on the table, he shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of the cobwebs of his own wonderings. He wasn’t going to get anything done today if he spent the morning trying to solve a mystery he’d spent the greater part of his life preoccupied with.</p><p> </p><p>But then his eyes drifted from the necklace to the photo in the frame sitting next to it.</p><p> </p><p>The sweet, toothy grin of his little sister gleamed back at him from behind cool glass. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, it felt like he imagined her. She had been gone for so long. And with the inexplicable nature of her disappearance, his own brain tried to rationalize the impossible with a more believable explanation.</p><p> </p><p>Even if it meant trying to convince him that he had dreamed her whole existence.</p><p> </p><p>Sighing, he stood at last, the soles of his feet pressing into the hardwood floor as he moved about, readying himself for the day ahead.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Heart racing, she ran through the woods, the soles of her feet aching as the cracking branches pressed into the bottoms of her shoes.</p><p> </p><p>Her hands touched each tree that she passed, steadying herself as she flew against the light wind that drifted through the early morning air.</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t slow down, not now. Not when the time was so near. She was sure of it.</p><p> </p><p>Her mother had warned her. Had told her that it would come. </p><p> </p><p><em> “But how?” </em> she had questioned. <em> “How do you know it will come to pass in my lifetime?” </em></p><p> </p><p>In her mind’s eye, she could still see her mother’s answering smile as she responded.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “One day, my child, you will know. As you have been blessed with the Keeping, you have also been blessed with the gift of Knowing.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>At the time, she hadn’t understood her mother’s words and the deeper meaning behind them.</p><p> </p><p>But her mother had been murdered before she could explain. </p><p> </p><p>Breathing heavily, she passed through the barrier, the feeling of it jolting through her as she did so. The same sensation of leaving a piece of her behind trickled through her as she kept running and she tried her hardest to push it aside. </p><p> </p><p>She slowed her pace as she neared the edge of the city, the walls towering above her so tall that she struggled to see the top from her place on the dirt floor of the forest.</p><p> </p><p>It was ironic, she thought, that a civilization that prided itself on its advanced technology relied on the most basic of barriers to protect itself from outsiders. </p><p> </p><p>An iron barrier.</p><p> </p><p>Only those who knew of the nature of the magical knew the effects of iron and why it had been chosen as the material with which they built their wall.</p><p> </p><p>She eyed her surroundings before moving to the spot, the one area of weakness in its shell. How they hadn’t discovered it over the centuries, she wasn’t sure, but only the Keepers knew of its existence.</p><p> </p><p>This plate was different from the rest, slight discoloration the only clue to its true nature. A panel of aluminum in a sea of iron.</p><p> </p><p>Placing her hand on its surface, she passed through the wall as if it were made of water instead of metal, her feet landing on the other side. </p><p> </p><p>Looking around, she eyed the vehicles zooming about overhead, the monorail moving at lightning speed above the crowded streets where people in all sorts of apparel moved about on their morning commute.</p><p> </p><p>She steeled herself, her right hand shaking at her side. While the plate on the wall allowed her entry, she was greatly weakened inside the city’s barriers. Her hand and chest ached from the deep feeling of suppression the iron pushed through her veins. </p><p> </p><p>As she pushed further inside, the feeling lessened and she started to feel somewhat normal once more.</p><p> </p><p>Other than the wall, there weren’t a lot of protections in place inside the city. She supposed they were extremely confident that the wall itself would keep out all magical folk.</p><p> </p><p>And it did. For the most part.</p><p> </p><p>Hastily, she moved quietly down the streets, blending into the throng of people as she made her way to the shop at the end of a dark alley.</p><p> </p><p>To the average passerby, it would appear to be a small shack, a blemish in the eyes of the citizens. Its owner, stubborn, refused to upgrade the building over the years of industrial progression.</p><p> </p><p>And apparently stubbornness was inherited.</p><p> </p><p>She squeezed through the crowd, no one paying her any mind as she hid her face beneath the hood of her jacket until finally, she emerged in the alley between the shack and the adjacent building.</p><p> </p><p>Pulling back her hood, she reached into the pocket of her jacket to retrieve the note.</p><p> </p><p>She held it for a moment, pondering. Once she passed along this message, there was no going back.</p><p> </p><p>Not for the first time, she questioned herself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Was she sure? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A face - One she had never seen before, flashed before her, a vision against the dark walls of the alley.</p><p> </p><p>She gasped.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Was that- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes drank in each detail of the man. Sharp jaw, stubble, dark skin, freckles, curls falling around his eyes…</p><p> </p><p>And then he was gone.</p><p> </p><p>Her heart was racing again, this time for a much different reason.</p><p> </p><p>He was… unexpected.</p><p> </p><p>Her arms shook, goosebumps flaring along the surface of her forearms as she remembered the look in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She knew in her soul who he was, but- Why did it feel like <em> more? </em></p><p> </p><p>Why did <em> he </em> feel like more?</p><p> </p><p>Hands still shaking, she gulped down the breath she’d been holding and bent down, pushing the message through the crack at the bottom of the alley door leading to the inside.</p><p> </p><p>She watched the shadows move on the other side of the window, flickering against the light of the inside.</p><p> </p><p>She heard the rumblings of speaking and the rushed sound of footsteps as they hurried to the door.</p><p> </p><p>And she smelled the faint hint of burning metal as the door opened to reveal the person on the other side.</p><p> </p><p>But she was already gone.</p><p>
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</p><p>His feet pivoted, pushing him off the grass and down the field.</p><p> </p><p>His pulse raced beneath the skin of his neck as he chased the black and white ball down the field, his feet keeping up with it as he moved swiftly out of reach of a defender three quarters down.</p><p> </p><p>White noise buzzed in his ears, a calming sound as he pushed his usual stream of conscious thought from his mind, focusing only on the ball on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>As he neared the goal box, his veins tightened, anticipation rushing through him at the thought of scoring.</p><p> </p><p>A strange whooshing sound interrupted his focus and his breath left him in a single exhale. His hands rushed up to cover his ears against the intrusion of sound.</p><p> </p><p>Vaguely, he knew he’d lost the ball but he clinched his eyes closed against the onslaught of sound. Suddenly, everything went silent, even the sound of the game in the background hazy to his own hearing. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes shot open - Standing in front of him was a woman.</p><p> </p><p>And she was beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>Blonde curls fell down her back and over her shoulder as she looked down at him with crystal blue eyes, her hand reaching out as if trying to reach him.</p><p> </p><p>He blinked once, twice.</p><p> </p><p>And she was gone.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy!” Suddenly, he heard his name being shouted, the sound rushing back to him. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed that many of the surrounding players had stopped to look at him questioningly. Miller was running toward him from his place down the field, pushing through the other team members to reach him. “Bellamy, are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>He involuntarily took a step back, his confusion setting in. Disoriented, he stumbled, but Miller had made it to his side, reaching down to take his arm and throwing it over his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Move!” he shouted to the other players as he practically carried Bellamy to the sideline, setting him down on the bench.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy?” Miller questioned again. “Bellamy, can you hear me?”</p><p> </p><p>The ringing in his ears was slowly dying down and his vision was clearing to the point that he could see the concern etched into Miller’s features.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” he said, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “I can now.”</p><p> </p><p>Miller shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Man, I tried calling your name so many times. What happened? We should get you to the hospital.” he started to get up from the bench, taking his phone from his pocket, likely to call 9-1-1.</p><p> </p><p>“No!” he said suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>What would even say to a paramedic?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yeah, I don’t know what happened. One second I was concentrating on soccer and the next I was having visions of a beautiful woman. Did I mention I also hear voices sometimes? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, no.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine.” he rasped. “Seriously.”</p><p> </p><p>Miller’s eyebrows rose to his hairline as he sat back down beside him.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy, my friend, I don’t think we have the same definition of fine. You should’ve seen you. It was like you had completely left our plane of existence.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy huffed. He wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t what had happened exactly.</p><p> </p><p>He ground his teeth together, his jaw ticking with thought.</p><p> </p><p>“Miller,” he began. “Do you ever just… feel like you’re supposed to be doing something? Like there’s something you're meant to do but you just can’t figure out what it is?”</p><p> </p><p>Miller blinked rapidly, his hand finding Bellamy’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this about that place? Bellamy,” he started. “Maybe it’s time you took a break from your research. The Library sponsors sabbaticals and I-”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy stood quickly from the bench, only wavering slightly on his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got to go.” he says, his deep voice rumbling as he left his friend dumbfounded on the bench.</p><p>
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</p><p>The necklace lay on top of his kitchen counter in the center of the island where he’d lain it.</p><p> </p><p>It seemed inconsequential in that moment, sitting still, not glowing or chanting in low whispers.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t help it. Something inside of him was turning. Almost as if he was being pulled, but he couldn’t figure out where.</p><p> </p><p>So many questions swirled in his brain.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Who was the owner of the necklace? The girl he’d seen? Who was she? Why was she reaching out for him? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The buzzing in his ears swelled as the questions continued to spiral.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Go.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Reaching forward, he picked up the necklace and began moving swiftly. A flurry of activity, he packed a bag of his belongings. Not many, just enough for a temporary trip. At the last moment, he grabbed the journal and threw it in the bag with the necklace.</p><p> </p><p>Tearing a sheet of paper out of the notepad on the refrigerator, he left a note. He wasn’t sure if anyone would even find it, but at least if they did, they would know where he had gone.</p><p> </p><p>Before he could even comprehend what he was doing, he was in his car and driving, and it wasn’t until he arrived at his destination that his brain caught up with his body. It was strange. Almost as if some other force were driving his movements.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly, he parked in the parking deck and made his way across the pedestrian bridge into the airport on the other side.</p><p> </p><p>He practically ran to the American Airlines ticket counter, breathing heavily as he approached.</p><p> </p><p>The lady behind the counter eyed him and his duffle bag warily.</p><p> </p><p>“I need a ticket to Florida. As soon as possible.”</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>“It can’t possibly be this hard to find a boat. We’re literally at the beach.” Bellamy said, exasperated to the agent behind the corner.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir, I’ve told you, this is a very busy time for us and, unfortunately, there’s just nothing available. If you would like to put yourself on the waitlist for tomorrow, I can-”</p><p> </p><p>“Forget it.” He pushed off the counter.</p><p> </p><p>Strolling through the lobby of the airport, he made his way outside and took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the island.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’d made it to Florida, he’d taken a small, admittedly kind of scary-looking plane to the small island of Great Abaco. He’d never even heard of the island before a quick Google search brought it to his attention, but he felt like it was close enough. </p><p> </p><p>Now that he had made it to the island, he was kind of paddling water trying to figure out what to do next.</p><p> </p><p>He needed a boat, obviously, but apparently tiny islands don’t have boats in abundance. Especially during the middle of some sort of popular local festival.</p><p> </p><p>His phone rang in his pocket and his eyebrows shot up, surprise covering his features at the fact that his cell phone was working internationally.</p><p> </p><p>“Yepp.” he said, answering without looking at the caller ID.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy,” it was the breathless voice of Miller. “Where the hell are you? I just got to your house to check on you and read your <em> insane </em> note.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m on Great Abaco Island, but thanks for your concern, Miller.” he smiled as he said it. Something about finally <em> doing </em> something had his energy flowing.</p><p> </p><p>“WHERE?” Miller asked, panic edging into his tone. “Bellamy, you really shouldn’t be traveling. I’m pretty sure you had a seizure today. And all because of some island that doesn’t exist? Come on, man, come home.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy sighed, his brain working overtime to try and figure out how to explain his actions to his only friend. “I don't know how to explain it to you, but I know I’m doing what I’m supposed to be. Maybe for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m getting somewhere.” he urged his friend to understand. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll get out there and I won’t find anything, but I have to try, Miller.”</p><p> </p><p>There was silence on the other end of the line and Bellamy worried he had hung up.</p><p> </p><p>“I get it.” was his response. “Know this.” he began. “If you’re not back in three days, I’m coming down there to get you myself. I don’t care if I have to charter a fucking jet. You might think there’s no one in the world who cares about you, Bellamy, but you’re wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, even through the euphoria of his adventure, Miller’s words gave him comfort in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” he said. “I promise. I’ll be in touch. Where I’m going-” he paused, swallowing. “I don’t exactly know that I will have cell phone service. But, if I’m not back, you fully have my permission to either move on with life without me or to come look for me. But Miller-” he sighed. “Don’t do what I did. Don’t spend your entire life wondering and searching. I’m making this choice on my own. You have the coordinates if you truly want to follow me, but you are under no obligation to do so.”</p><p> </p><p>He could hear Miller sigh through the receiver.</p><p> </p><p>“Just- Just be careful, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy nodded even though Miller couldn’t see him. “I will. I promise.”</p><p> </p><p>The line clicked and he put the phone back in his pocket.</p><p>
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</p><p>---</p><p>
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</p><p>Walking along the coastline, he eyed the empty docks wistfully, his stomach swooping with each one. He’d waited until the next morning as instructed, but all the boats were still occupied. At this rate, he wasn’t going to find a boat for <em> days. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>The whispers.</p><p> </p><p>He turned, his gaze looking out over the horizon of the ocean.</p><p> </p><p>There.</p><p> </p><p>A boat was swiftly making its way across the clear waters, heading inland toward the dock up ahead. He ran toward it, his feet carrying him quickly as his duffle bag hit him repeatedly in the back.</p><p> </p><p>Once he made it, he watched as the boat pulled into a spot toward the back of the dock and the people onboard disembarked. As they waved their goodbyes to the captain, Bellamy walked over to the vessel.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi.” he greeted. “Uh- Are you available for charter?”</p><p> </p><p>The man on board looked up from where he was obviously refilling something and eyed Bellamy up and down.</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet.” he answered with a drawl. “I have to refuel.”</p><p> </p><p>The strange man stood then, pushing his sunglasses down to cover his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t look like most tourists.” he said, his voice accusatory. “Did you need something?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy swallowed and reached into his bag, pulling out the slip of paper with the coordinates.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to get here.” he pushed the paper in the man’s direction and he accepted it easily.</p><p> </p><p>After looking at the paper, the man pushed his sunglasses back up his face and into his hair.</p><p> </p><p>“This is in the middle of the ocean.” he deadpanned. “You want to go visit the middle of the ocean? It’s a little odd for a diver not to have any diving equipment.” he motioned to Bellamy’s single duffle. “I don’t rent, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy nodded. “I know. I’m not diving, I just need to get to those coordinates. To uh- Take pictures.”</p><p> </p><p>The man’s eyes narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t come up with anything better than that, huh?” he questioned, obviously amused. “Listen, my guy, I don’t care why you want to get there as long as you pay me. Give me a minute to get everything reset and we can be on our way.”</p><p> </p><p>He pushed by Bellamy, his shoulder brushing his own, and made his way to the dock where he was tied.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait.” Bellamy said, his hand reaching out to the man as he passed. “What was your name again?”</p><p> </p><p>The man smirked.</p><p> </p><p>“Just call me Murphy.”</p><p>
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</p><p>They had coasted along the waters smoothly for several hours before Murphy even said anything.</p><p> </p><p>“We won’t have long to stay at your spot.” he said. “It’s high tide so we’ll need to get back before too late.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> When the tide is at its highest… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Got it.” he answered, his hands clenching against the rail of the boat.</p><p> </p><p>It was a tiny boat with very little space below deck, but there seemed to be plenty enough for him and Murphy above deck, the silver aluminum of the metal railing warm under the rays of the sun.</p><p> </p><p>“And before we head out that deep, I’m going to stop by Old Bight so we can top of our fuel again.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy only nodded.</p><p> </p><p>Once they made it to Old Bight, Murphy waited in line for fuel and Bellamy sat, watching the island. There were great cliffs along the edge of one part, the dark stone an ominous backdrop to the pictures that tourists were taking atop it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Head north beyond the bluffs. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His eyes narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, we’re good to go.” Murphy said, climbing back aboard, taking his place behind the wheel of the boat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>He tensed as he heard it, the voice in his head sounded more urgent than before.</p><p> </p><p>“Next stop,” Murphy teased. “The middle of nowhere!”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy rolled his eyes but sat back against the railing as they began moving once more, his hand finding the necklace inside his pocket like a lifeline.</p><p> </p><p>They had only been traveling a little ways when he saw it.</p><p> </p><p>It was enormous, protruding from the ocean like its own island, the top covered in green growth.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The lady awaits by the great green stone. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Murphy.” he cautioned, his heart racing as they neared the mammoth stone. “Murphy, I think we’re close.”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy hummed in agreement, his hands sure as they headed straight toward the rock.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, we are.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy turned around, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked to his captain. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Bellamy!</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>The voice was practically screaming now. It was then he looked down and realized something very strange.</p><p> </p><p>All of Murphy’s instruments were going haywire. None of them were working properly or giving adequate read outs, the dials flickering left and right, never stopping.</p><p> </p><p>“What-” Bellamy started, his voice shaking.</p><p> </p><p>“You see, I didn’t think it was actually true.” Murphy started, his sure hands guiding the wheel, continuing their journey to the other side of the stone. “When she told me, that is. But here you are. Practically shoving the coordinates in my face. I may be a sceptic but even I can’t deny the obvious.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy stood, his stomach dropping as he looked at the other man almost as if for the first time, eyeing him with suspicion.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand-” he started.</p><p> </p><p>Murphy laughed.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course you don’t, my good man. But the thing is, if she’s right, then you’re a pretty important dude and she would have my head if I screwed this up, so…” he waved his hand and suddenly, Bellamy found himself seated once more, unable to move.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck-” he struggled against invisible ropes, trying to move from his seat.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry. If you are who I think you are, then we’ll get you out of there. I can’t hide you from <em> her, </em> unfortunately, but The Awakened will come and find you.” Murphy said, his tone even and maybe even a tad bit amused.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy watched as the great green stone appeared to their left, standing steadfast and still even as waves from the passing boat splashed up against the rough surface.</p><p> </p><p>“Murphy, what’s happening?” Bellamy renewed his struggles. “Is this about money? I don’t have any money.”</p><p> </p><p>Yet, even as he said it, Bellamy knew this was something else entirely. The evidence was literally right in front of him, as an invisible force kept him seated on the boat.</p><p> </p><p>Murphy laughed as he responded.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll see. Now listen cause we don’t have much time.” he started. “When she gets you, it’s very important that you don’t trust anything she says. They’re out to get you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What </em> are you <em> talking </em> about? Who is <em> she </em> ?” his mind raced and then suddenly, “<em>The Keeper </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy burst into laughter at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, you wish she was the Keeper. No, she’s something else entirely. In charge of finding you before the Keeper, actually.” he sighed “And unfortunately, I have to deliver you to her or my cover will be blown.” his eyes found Bellamy then. “Whatever you do, don’t trust her. And don’t blow my cover, if you will. Someone has to be the one to tell the Awakened that you’re here and if you rat me out, they won’t come save your ass.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s mind was racing. What was happening? Nothing made any sense. Who was she? Who was <em> Murphy </em>? Who were the Awakened?</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, we’ve got about ten seconds. Any last questions?” Murphy mused, headed straight ahead into the abyss.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy swallowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know her? Have you seen her?” he asked, his voice far too quiet beneath the roar of the boat’s engine.</p><p> </p><p>Murphy turned, eyes quizzical. “Who?” he questioned.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy hesitated.</p><p> </p><p>“Octavia.” he said loudly. “Have you seen Octavia?”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy paused for the first time, his head turning in Bellamy’s direction, but before he could respond, everything went dark.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Making his way into the streets of the city, he pushed people a little too roughly to be polite as he headed toward the shop.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t like having to do what he did, but if she was right, this was the last time he would have to do it.</p><p> </p><p>Sliding into the alley next to the shop, he knocked a very specific knock on the emblem covering the wooden door.</p><p> </p><p>The door opened only slightly and a hand reached out, pulling him quickly into the interior.</p><p> </p><p>“Well?” the voice demanded in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>“Well what? Jesus woman, you couldn’t turn on a light?” he grumbled, rubbing the soreness in his hand where she had squeezed the life from his veins.</p><p> </p><p>She huffed and suddenly the room was filled with brightness, her hand still resting on the light switch.</p><p> </p><p>“You know,” he started. “If you would just upgrade this place to match the times, you could have automatic lights.”</p><p> </p><p>He walked with a slight swagger to the couch off to the side of the room and threw himself onto it.</p><p> </p><p>As usual, she rolled her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I like having control over whether or not I’m visible, thanks.” she sat in the chair opposite the couch, flipping it around so that her arms rested on top of its back. “Well?”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Well what?” he questioned once more. “It's done. It’s not like I could’ve avoided it.” he paused. “Or him, for that matter.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes widened minutely.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, you mean you actually found him? Are you sure it’s him? Where is he? Why isn’t he with you?” she fired off question after question without giving him a chance to respond.</p><p> </p><p>Murphy hesitated, knowing she would be angry with his report.</p><p> </p><p>“Firstly, yes I think I found him. You know I’ve never really believed in this whole prophecy nonsense, but the guy <em> literally </em> walked up to me and handed me the fucking <em> coordinates </em>.” he shook his head in disbelief. “It was the craziest shit that’s ever happened to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes widened even more, her gaze borderline comical.</p><p> </p><p>“So where is he??” she asked, her hands grasping the back of the chair tightly in anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>He paused, biting down on his lip as he lay back on the couch, his eyes finding the ceiling.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Ray. You know I didn’t have a choice. She would’ve found out and then not only would my cover be blown but I would be <em> executed. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Raven’s eyes narrowed sharply then, her mouth opening in distaste.</p><p> </p><p>“You took him to <em> her? </em>” she asked, her voice belaying her displeasure.</p><p> </p><p>Murphy sat up quickly, hands raising in defense.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> had </em>to. She knows when someone is brought in through the barrier.” he defended. “But it’s okay. We’ll go get everyone else and then we’ll get him out of there.”</p><p> </p><p>She flung her face in her hands for a moment, brain working a mile a minute as she contemplated what to do next.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, fuck, FUCK.” she stood up so harshly the chair skittered to its side as it fell. “Come on, we’ve got to go <em> now. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy sighed, his hands rubbing his eyes tiredly.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh come on, we’ve got at least an hour. I could really use a na-”</p><p> </p><p>“Murphy, if your lazy ass isn’t ready to go in three minutes, I will kill you in such a way you will never be found.”</p><p> </p><p>He rolled his eyes and pushed up from the comfort of the couch.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine. What the fuck ever.” he followed her into the side room as they gathered what they would need. “It’s not like she’s going to <em> kill </em> him.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven huffed.</p><p> </p><p>“No, <em> she </em> won’t kill him.” she agreed. “But the second she decides he’s the one, she will tell her uncle and <em> he </em> will kill him.” she turned to him then. “And if that man dies, everything we’ve set out to accomplish is shot to hell.”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy swallowed, picking up his satchel from the floor, checking its contents to make sure all of his weapons were intact.</p><p> </p><p>“Fair.” he conceded. “So what’s our next step.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven grabbed her own bag and made her way back to the side door off the alley.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, we go get the panic squad and we get him out of there before she can figure out that he’s the real deal.” she said lowly. </p><p> </p><p>He paused momentarily.</p><p> </p><p>“Raven.” he said, his voice hushed.</p><p> </p><p>She turned around, giving him an exasperated but curious look.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s something else you should know before we go.” he started. “He asked about someone. Before we got here.”</p><p> </p><p>That got Raven’s attention. “He’s looking for someone?”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy nodded. “Apparently”</p><p> </p><p>A noise on the streets outside broke their conversation and Raven hurried to the alley.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll talk about this when we’re in a safer zone.” she whispered. “Lock up.”</p><p> </p><p>He followed right behind her. As she walked out the door he turned and waved his hand, watching as the lights went out and the doors locked themselves.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
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</p><p>The soft murmuring of voices lulled in Bellamy’s mind.</p><p> </p><p>At first he thought it was the sound of the whispers, but then he realized that the voices were forming words.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just not sure.” a woman’s voice formed in his haze. “I need more time.”</p><p> </p><p>Another voice responded.</p><p> </p><p>“You have one day.” A man’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>And then the sharp sound of a door closing.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes popped open at the noise, quickly drinking in the white ceilings above where he was apparently lying on a very soft surface.</p><p> </p><p>A quiet gasp.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the ceiling was gone, replaced by the face of a woman.</p><p> </p><p>A beautiful woman with blond curls and crystal blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>And then it was black once more.</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WHAT just happened??</p><p>I simply MUST know your thoughts on the answers in this chapter - Were they answers at all? What new questions do you have? Has anything surprised you?</p><p>Tell me all the things!</p><p>ALSO.</p><p>Predictions!</p><p>Where oh WHERE is Octavia (Still)?? Who is The Keeper?? Who are the Awakened?????/</p><p>I look forward to reading every single comment. Seriously, they make my day.</p><p>Until next week!</p><p> </p><p>-Mally</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <b>Chapter 3 - The Outpost</b>
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</p><p>She was beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>Even more so in person than in his visions.</p><p> </p><p>He watched as her eyes widened in disbelief, blue and clear, never wavering from his own. It was as if she had walked straight from his dreams.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Whatever you do, don’t trust her.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It seemed foreign to him, this idea of Murphy’s that she was so nefarious. Surely he had been referring to someone else?</p><p> </p><p>He watched as her breathing seemed to even out once more, her chest rising and falling more slowly than it had been in her surprise after she had noticed he had awoken.</p><p> </p><p>His lips were dry and his throat was parched, as if he had been asleep for several hours. He ran his tongue across the chapped skin, attempting to provide moisture in relief.</p><p> </p><p>“Where-” he croaked, head shaking back and forth quickly as he realized how hoarse he sounded. “Where am I?”</p><p> </p><p>The woman swallowed, almost as if she were taking the time to think over her answer.</p><p> </p><p>“We found you.” she said, her voice much deeper than he expected. “Y-you were on the beach. Alone. We um-” she hesitated. “We brought you here to our hospital to monitor you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy blinked.</p><p> </p><p>Was she lying? Was she telling the truth? The last thing he remembered was talking to Murphy on the boat. Had they crashed?</p><p> </p><p>He blinked a few more times before he attempted to sit up on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>The woman gasped, moving forward and placing her palms on his chest, urging him to lay back on the soft surface once more.</p><p> </p><p>“No!” she said swiftly. “No, you’re still disoriented. You might hurt yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>He paused at the feeling of her skin against the material of his T-Shirt. A T-Shirt he didn’t even remember putting on. Heat permeated from her palms, spreading across his torso.</p><p> </p><p>His right hand came up to grip her left wrist in reaction. “I’m fine.” he said, his voice a little more clear this time.</p><p> </p><p>By the time he was sitting upright, she had stepped back, her eyes darting to different points of the room as she once again seemed to deliberate her next move.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, her shoulders straightened and she looked him squarely in the face.</p><p> </p><p>Apparently, she had decided.</p><p> </p><p>“What is your name?” she asked quietly, almost uncertain. “I mean- We need to know your name and where you were headed so that we can try and get you back where you belong.”</p><p> </p><p>She tacked the last bit on the end as an explanation, but Bellamy couldn’t help but think that the question itself had come from an entirely different place.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy.” he answered. “My name is Bellamy.”</p><p> </p><p>He studied her reaction carefully, waiting for some sign of… anything, really. He wasn’t even sure what.</p><p> </p><p>But her carefully chosen blank face never wavered.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy.” she said, her voice thoughtful. “It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Illoria.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy took special care to control his reaction as well, knowing she was obviously trying to hide her own, but he wasn’t as well practiced as she was.</p><p> </p><p>He watched her eyes narrow sharply.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you heard of our little island before?” she questioned, her voice deceptively calm. She turned then to mess with some of the instruments lying on the metal table next to the bed.</p><p> </p><p>He considered her question for a moment - Should he lie? She was, that much was apparent. How close should he play his own hand?</p><p> </p><p>“No.” he decided that for the time being, it was in his best interest to play dumb. “I don’t remember seeing it on my charts.”</p><p> </p><p>Briefly, he saw the woman’s mouth tilt upwards on one side as she tried and failed to hide a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I just remember chartering a boat from some guy named Murphy. Nice guy.” he hoped that the sardonic quality of his tone was lost on the strange but beautiful woman. “What is your name?”</p><p> </p><p>He had tried to keep the question as casual as possible, but he was rather impatient to learn her name. The name of the woman who had, quite literally, been haunting him.</p><p> </p><p>She continued fiddling with her instruments, placing them inside a leather holster before rolling it up and setting it aside. By the time she turned back to him, it had been silent for well over a minute.</p><p> </p><p>“Clarke.” her voice seemed a strange mixture of relief and hesitance. “My name is Clarke.”</p><p> </p><p>His insides jolted.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A beautiful C enveloped by astilbe flowers. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her chuckle brought him from his musings.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, it’s unusual. My mother told me that I shouldn’t complain so much that I was named for some famous person in our island’s history, but it’s hard to be grateful when every other girl your age has a nice, <em> normal </em> name.”</p><p> </p><p>He swallowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Being normal is vastly overrated.” he offered helpfully.</p><p> </p><p>She stopped fidgeting, growing very still as her eyes rose from a spot on the floor to meet his own.</p><p> </p><p>“True.” she admitted. </p><p> </p><p>It was silent for a beat before she spoke again.</p><p> </p><p>“My uncle will want to know that you’re awake.” she said carefully. “He was very worried.”</p><p> </p><p>Leaning over, she pressed a button on the wall. The button suddenly turned a bright blue and Bellamy realized it was a call button.</p><p> </p><p>“Your uncle? Is he like… a doctor or something?” </p><p> </p><p>He was trying very hard not to freak out considering what he’d been told by Murphy. He had momentarily been lured in by the mystery of the woman and had forgotten the boat captain’s warning.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> They’re out to get you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Clarke laughed lightly, crossing her arms over her chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no. Definitely not. If anything, I’m the doctor in the family.” she smiled.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy nodded and looked to the door, waiting for it to open and someone to burst through.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, so… who is he?”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke’s smile widened.</p><p> </p><p>“His name is Marcus. But you can call him Your Majesty.”</p><p>
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</p><p>“Remind me again why we are walking instead of taking the hovercraft?” Murphy mumbled as he tripped and stumbled over the roots sticking out of the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Raven rolled her eyes and hopped neatly over the one in front of her. She could just make out one of the chimneys in the distance.</p><p> </p><p>“Because.” she said, her voice dripping with frustration. “You of all people should know that the majority of The Awakened <em> despise </em>technology. You’re only comfortable with it because you grew up inside the walls.”</p><p> </p><p>She could hear him grumble more from where he trailed behind her but she ignored him and kept walking.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well. They only hate the tech because the people who make it have banished them. Maybe once this dude fulfills his duty and abolishes the system, we can convince them that it isn’t the <em> tech </em> that’s bad. It’s the people.” his words grew more and more sharp as he spoke, bitterness and disdain seething into every word.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, maybe.” Raven shrugged, the first house on the edge of the village coming into view. “It would be nice to be able to keep inventing after the revolution.” she noted with a dreamy quality.</p><p> </p><p>“Raven!” a voice called from the gate.</p><p> </p><p>Raven smiled and ran to the girl standing there, enveloping her in a tight hug.</p><p> </p><p>“Luna” she whispered into her hair, hugging her tighter. “Luna, it’s time.”</p><p> </p><p>The girl pulled away, her long, curly hair falling back from her face.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly with confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean it’s time. He’s here.”</p><p> </p><p>She watched Luna’s eyes widen in recognition.</p><p> </p><p>“A-are you sure?” she stuttered, her eyes going back and forth between Raven who was nodding and Murphy who just looked bored.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. We’re sure. We need to talk to Indra.”</p><p> </p><p>Luna nodded and took Raven’s hand, leading her through the throng of people inside the village gates.</p><p> </p><p>Raven nodded at the people she knew as they passed, watching as those who still didn’t trust Murphy eyed him with contempt. She knew they were weary of the outsider who had learned magic in the city, but without him, they would never be able to save the Awakened.</p><p> </p><p>As they wove through the streets, Raven was struck by just how different their civilization was from her own. Granted, she had grown up here just as much as she had in Illoria, but walking through both worlds was enough to give whiplash to the unprepared. She’ll never forget the first time she brought Murphy to the Outpost.</p><p> </p><p>The entire town was cloaked in magic, preventing those who lacked the Sight from finding it unless they were bestowed special privileges. </p><p> </p><p>Like Raven.</p><p> </p><p>As they reached the end of the road, the manor she had seen glimpses of in the distance now towered above her from the street. It was old, centuries so, and was still in as good of shape as it had been the day it was built.</p><p> </p><p>Magical upkeep ensured it.</p><p> </p><p>She’d always wondered who originally lived in the manor, but no one seemed to know. Not even Indra. As they walked inside, she couldn’t help but admire for the thousandth time the beauty of the interior. Crown molding drew her eye upward as she took in the tall ceilings and the medallion in the center of the front room where a beautiful chandelier hung down, casting a glow around the room. The staircases on either side of the room that led to the upstairs met in the middle, a double door sat squarely in between the two.</p><p> </p><p>At that moment, the double doors opened on their own and a very austere-looking woman walked through. Today, she was dressed in a purple gown, black embellishments lining the collar and shoulders, her hair piled on top of her head in an intricate updo.</p><p> </p><p>She looked down at Raven, first very serious, and in the next second, with a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Good afternoon, Raven.” she said, her deep voice drifting down the stairs and echoing around the room. “Good to see you.”</p><p> </p><p>She descended the staircase, taking her time, until she was standing before the party. Her eyes took in Raven’s hurried stance, Luna’s anxious face, and Murphy’s ambivalent one.</p><p> </p><p>“I take it you have news from beyond the wall?” she asked calmly.</p><p> </p><p>Raven nodded hastily.</p><p> </p><p>“I do, madame. The Awakened one. He’s here.”</p><p> </p><p>Indra’s eyebrows shot up at that, her cool gaze momentarily breaking, betraying her surprise at Raven’s announcement.</p><p> </p><p>“Is he now?” she questioned, her tone light. “And how do you know?”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy chuckled behind her and she quickly shot him an I-will-kill-you-right-here-right-now-on-the-spot glance before turning back to Indra, who didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you see, a few days ago, I received a missive.” she said, her tone quiet. “It was from-” she paused. “It was from The Keeper.”</p><p> </p><p>Indra’s eyebrows lowered and her lips turned down slightly at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Raven.” she admonished. “I told you. Whoever is sending you those letters is trying to mislead you. Mislead all of us. There is no Keeper. No Keeper has been seen or heard from in over a century.”</p><p> </p><p>Indra started to turn and Raven moved forward slightly, her hand coming up to rest on Indra’s arm before she thought better of it and lowered it again.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, madame. But this one. This one was so specific. It said ‘<em> He is coming.’ </em> ” she said. “And then two days later, Murphy picks a guy up on the mainland who <em> gave him the coordinates to our island </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>This made Indra pause in her exit, her hand resting on the railing of the staircase. She turned her gaze slightly, finding Murphy.</p><p> </p><p>“You.” she ordered. “Come here.”</p><p> </p><p>Murphy visibly swallowed as he moved closer to the leader of all magical, having never directly addressed her himself.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes swept over him slowly as if assessing.</p><p> </p><p>“Explain.” she stated.</p><p> </p><p>Murphy’s hand came up to his neck as he rubbed the hair on his nape nervously.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just as she said, madame.” he said nervously. “This man. He came up to me as I arrived back with tourists and gave me the island’s coordinates, practically begging me to bring him here. And he-”</p><p> </p><p>He paused and Indra turned completely to face him.</p><p> </p><p>“He what?” she demanded he continue.</p><p> </p><p>“He was looking for someone.”</p><p> </p><p>Indra seemed interested once more.</p><p> </p><p>“Looking for someone <em> here </em>?” she questioned, her own curiosity evident in her voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Murphy nodded. “And not just anyone.”</p><p>
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</p><p>“Your highness?” Bellamy asked. “As in a King? Your Uncle is… the King?”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke nodded sharply, her fingers typing away on a keyboard that apparently fed into a screen that Bellamy couldn’t even see. A holographic projector?</p><p> </p><p>“And you would do well to treat him as such when he gets here. He is much nicer when you play to his vanity.”</p><p> </p><p>He blinked. Was she giving him… tips?</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the door to his left opened and a man walked in. He didn’t look like any king that Bellamy had ever imagined, but then again, monarchies were slowly fading into oblivion outside this island. He was wearing black slacks and a black long sleeve shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the top. It gave him a very casual appearance, but apparently Bellamy shouldn’t treat him as such.</p><p> </p><p>For a second, the man looked startled, his eyes widening, just as Clarke’s had. But then his face was managed once more, smoothing into nothingness.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Clarke?” he questioned, his eyes never leaving Bellamy. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s awake.” Clarke said, her tone unassuming.</p><p> </p><p>Her uncle’s eyes cut to her then, narrowing, but just as quickly as Bellamy noticed it, it was gone. He turned to Bellamy, a wide smile overwhelming his features and Bellamy was reminded of the Uncle from Lion King.</p><p> </p><p>“Wonderful!” he said joyfully, his hands clapping together. “So glad that you have returned to consciousness. We’ll have to make sure to contact your family immediately. Unfortunately, when we found you, we couldn’t find anything on you that would identify you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy immediately thought of his bag with all of his identification, his phone…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Miller. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I see.” he answered carefully, suddenly feeling like he should heed Murphy’s warning.</p><p> </p><p>“His name is Bellamy.” Clarke’s voice came from the corner, her eyes still on the screen in front of her. “I told him we would make sure he got back home safely.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked at her uncle then, eyes urging him with some undefined thought.</p><p> </p><p>Her uncle’s expression never changed.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy.” he said as he moved forward, his hand reaching out to shake. “My name is Marcus. Marcus Kane. Do you have a last name? It will make it much easier for us to find your family.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy shook Marcus’ hand but something warned him to be wary.</p><p> </p><p>“Miller.” he supplied, his tone clipped. “Bellamy Miller.”</p><p> </p><p>Kane’s smile was even more feral up close and Bellamy felt the hairs on his forearm stand up.</p><p> </p><p>“Well. Nice to meet you Bellamy Miller.” he clapped once. “Well, unfortunately, we don’t have any boats leaving for the mainland for at least three days.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s stomach was in knots, watching as Kane moved across the room to stand behind Clarke, watching the screen as she typed.</p><p> </p><p>“But the good news is, we have a few nice guest properties on the hospital grounds for families. You will be happy in one of those until we can get you back home.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy knew in his soul that this man was being dishonest, but somehow, all he could seem to think about was the towering way he was standing over Clarke’s shoulders. He could see the discomfort on her face, the way her fingers shook as she typed on the keyboard.</p><p> </p><p>“I appreciate the hospitality.” he answered, watching Clarke as he spoke. “But I’m sure there’s a hotel or something nearby I can stay at.”</p><p> </p><p>Kane shook his head, his hands coming up to land on Clarke’s shoulders. Bellamy watched her jump slightly at the contact but Kane continued to speak.</p><p> </p><p>“Nonsense. We wouldn’t hear of it. It’s not every day we get visitors to our little island. Wouldn’t dream of your having to pay to stay, especially when we can’t offer you transportation.”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke’s eyes met his, the crystal blue color like a sea he could get lost in. </p><p> </p><p>“Well.” he started. “If you’re sure.”</p><p> </p><p>Kane’s hands tightened on Clarke’s shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p> </p><p>She blinked.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Where is this place?” he asked, walking along the hallway after Clarke.</p><p> </p><p>He missed his bag, all of his belongings. Something told him they were still here somewhere. He needed to find them. He needed to get out of here. Murphy had said something about The Awakened coming to find him but he wasn’t going to wait around for that. He had spent his entire life trying to find this place and now that he was here, he could see why his grandfather had left it.</p><p> </p><p>“As my uncle said, it’s a guest house.” she stated primly, her hand coming up to rest on a palm reader next to a door. “I think you will find it to be quite comfortable.”</p><p> </p><p>He rolled his eyes as they stepped into what looked like an elevator.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t really care about comforts, I’m more concerned with going home.”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly the room started glowing and Bellamy looked around wildly. It only lasted a few seconds before it stopped and the doors slid open once more.</p><p> </p><p>They were in a… garden?</p><p> </p><p>“What the-” he looked around at the beautiful plant life, glowing lights lining a pathway ahead of them.</p><p> </p><p>She turned to him, an eyebrow raised.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>He stepped out and looked out around him. Behind him, the elevator-looking pod appeared to be existing in the middle of the garden, nothing else around it. When the doors shut, the elevator disappeared entirely.</p><p> </p><p>“What <em> was </em> that thing?” he gasped, eyes finally seeing the large looming building in the distance at the top of a very large hill. It was all glass and bright white paint, the light from inside brightly exposing the hospital inside as people in white coats walked back and forth.</p><p> </p><p>“The transporter?” she asked, her voice generally curious. “Have you never used a transporter?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Um. No. Where I’m from, we have elevators and they are most definitely attached to buildings. They can’t just-” he waved his hand back and forth. “Appear and reappear elsewhere.”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke chuckled behind him and he turned to meet her.</p><p> </p><p>“They don’t just appear and reappear, Bellamy. They’re not magical.” she pointed to two small boxes on the ground. “It’s molecular travel. Where these boxes exist, the transporter can travel. They don’t exist everywhere.” she shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>Turning, she moved along the pathway expecting him to follow her.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” he asked. “With tech like that you would think everyone would want it.”</p><p> </p><p>She kept walking as she responded.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure everyone would want it, but it’s very expensive. It’s mostly limited to government buildings. Most people use the lightways.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s mind was spinning. <em> Lightways? </em></p><p> </p><p>They were approaching a very modern looking house, once again covered completely in windows; however, these windows seemed to be tinted so that one couldn’t see inside.</p><p> </p><p>She walked up to the door and pressed her palm flat against an invisible panel once more, the panel sliding open and revealing the doorway to the inside.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on.” she urged, walking into the house.</p><p> </p><p>As he followed after her, he couldn’t help but feel his mouth fall open at the contents. The house was beautiful but there were several contraptions throughout the room that he didn’t recognize, calling out to him to come and explore.</p><p> </p><p>“This is the home.” she supplied, her hands gesturing to the room around them. “We will come get you when the transport is ready, but until then, there’s plenty of food in the kitchen.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked at him then, her eyes cold and see through. Bellamy thought then of how strange it was to see such beautiful eyes be filled with.. Nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“Clarke.” he started. “What’s really going on here?”</p><p> </p><p>She looked up then, her eyes never wavering.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” her tone flat.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean this all feels very twilight-zone. I went for a boat trip with a strange dude and woke up in a hospital on an island with technology I’ve never seen before with a fucking<em> king </em> who is the most hospitable nobleman I’ve ever met. It just seems <em> fishy </em> at best.”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke shrugged, her expression offering nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you just haven’t visited a lot of friendly places.” she pushed past him back to the entrance. “Stay put. And if I were you, I’d be a good little boy and do as you're told.”</p><p> </p><p>His heckles rose then.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child, Clarke. I’m not an idiot. I have multiple PHDs to prove it.”</p><p> </p><p>She turned around, her eyes rolling.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh so because you have an education, you can’t be duped? Come on, Bellamy, if we wanted something nefarious from you, wouldn’t we have done something <em> while you were sleeping? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>He felt fire run through his veins.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, <em> Clarke, </em> would you have?”</p><p> </p><p>He could see her teeth clenching together, her jaw clicking under her smooth, pale skin.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have to listen to this.” she said simply, her tone sharp and unyielding. “I will return later with some clothes.”</p><p> </p><p>He rushed to the door, following after her.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait. No, don’t just leave me here. How do I get to town? I need like, a map or something or-”</p><p> </p><p>She turned swiftly, her hand coming up to rest on his chest and he was filled with the same warmth as before. Something beyond arousal, even if he knew that was simmering as well. Something different.</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely not. You are to remain here.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“No way. You can’t just quarantine me to some pretty house for three days. I’m an <em> adult. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you?” she said smartly, turning again.</p><p> </p><p>His hand came up to grab her arm, spinning her around to face him again.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh believe me. I am. And I’ve been through worse shit than this. You can’t keep me here, Clarke.”</p><p> </p><p>She smirked, eyebrow raising.</p><p> </p><p>“Watch me.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
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</p><p>She moved swiftly through the cloak of disappearance and into the boundaries of the magical. Now that he had arrived, surely they had begun preparations for extraction. </p><p> </p><p>In the distance, she saw Raven and smiled. </p><p> </p><p><em> Good. </em> She had taken the letter seriously then.</p><p> </p><p>Raven was chatting with Indra, Murphy in the background. She could tell Indra was displeased about something and she longed to know what. </p><p> </p><p>They had to know where he would be taken. It wasn’t like the city folk had plenty of places for outsiders to stay. </p><p> </p><p>She saw then, a little further away, the girl who was watching Indra intently.</p><p> </p><p>The girl was older now than the last time she’d seen her but still just as serious as ever, waiting for Indra’s orders.</p><p> </p><p>The keeper started whispering then, her hands conjuring up a spell, wispy in front of her. She watched as the cloud formed and then she blew it away, straight to the girl.</p><p> </p><p>She watched as the girl noticed it and then as she listened, her ear turning to take in the words being whispered.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly, the girl ran to her leader, garnering her attention and relaying a message.</p><p> </p><p>The group looked around then, their eyes scanning the horizon, undoubtedly looking for the sender.</p><p> </p><p>She hid behind a tree, cloaking herself from their gaze. </p><p> </p><p>Before they could come find her, she ran away once more.</p><p>
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</p><p>There was no way he was going to stay locked up in this house any longer.</p><p> </p><p>He moved around the various rooms looking for anything, any<em> where </em> he could escape from. All of the doors were locked, all of the windows were locked too.</p><p> </p><p>Had she really expected him to stay here? For three days?</p><p> </p><p>Who even <em> was </em> this girl? Why was he having visions of her if she was out to get him? Was that it? Was he receiving some sort of warning?</p><p> </p><p>He snorted.</p><p> </p><p>Well if he’d been warned, he was an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Maybe next time you get a vision of a beautiful woman, you consider that she might be your ultimate demise instead of- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He cut his thoughts off, determined to refocus on the task at hand.</p><p> </p><p>There had to be something. </p><p> </p><p>He closed his eyes, concentrating, grasping at any knowledge he had of lock picking, escape hatches, a-</p><p> </p><p>A sound behind him brought him back to the present. </p><p> </p><p>He whirled around and started.</p><p> </p><p>A window was open.</p><p> </p><p>How-</p><p> </p><p>He could have sworn that it was closed moments earlier. Hadn’t he tried all the windows in the house?</p><p> </p><p>Had he missed one?</p><p> </p><p>He looked outside, his eyes scanning the line of trees beyond the yard that led into the forest. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Instead of continuing to dwell, he squeezed himself through the window and out into the garden.</p><p>
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</p><p>She watched him leave, her eyes drinking in every movement.</p><p> </p><p>He was so much different than she expected.</p><p> </p><p>Growing up, studying the prophecy, and even later after her mother had predicted that he would arrive in her lifetime, she never expected him to be so-</p><p> </p><p>Perfect.</p><p> </p><p>He was disappearing into the distance, his shadow engulfed by the slight cloud of mist that surrounded the house.</p><p> </p><p>It was only a moment later that she saw Raven and company come up behind the house, torch light bright in the darkness of the fading light.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Too late. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rather than allow them to find a way into the safe house only to be disappointed, she sent another whisper spell to the girl.</p><p> </p><p><em> No </em> . she thought. <em> It wasn’t going to be that easy. </em></p><p> </p><p>She watched the girl report to Indra and then the party quickly retreated back into the woods.</p><p> </p><p>Pushing up from where she sat high in the tree, she jumped and drifted slowly to the ground, her feet finding the soft earth beneath it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He was going to the city. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She huffed.</p><p>
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</p><p>He wandered the streets of the city, finding something new to look at every ten seconds. He was reminded of Wakanda as he took in his surroundings. The <em> Lightway </em>Clarke spoke of turned out to be some sort of supremely advanced version of public transportation that zoomed around the city at neck-breaking speeds. </p><p> </p><p>The store fronts were all glass and shiny metal, displaying clothes and electronics that he could not have imagined even in his wildest of visions.</p><p> </p><p>It was exactly as his grandfather had described it.</p><p> </p><p>As he realized just how much of his grandfather’s writings were true, he grew angrier at the people of his time who ridiculed him and cast him out of polite society, deeming him unfit.</p><p> </p><p>They had <em> no idea. </em></p><p> </p><p>And that had been over 100 years ago.</p><p> </p><p>People around him seemed to ignore him for the most part. Sure, there was the occasional person who would stop and look at him curiously, wondering how they did not recognize him. He guessed that made sense considering the fact that it was a very small island and the city was only a small part of it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bellamy. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He stopped, the whispers once again speaking to him, somehow more clear than they had been before.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Pay attention. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Looking around him, he took in his surroundings, taking note of everything he saw.</p><p> </p><p><em> Oh. </em> he realized.</p><p> </p><p>There.</p><p> </p><p>Tucked away at the end of the street was a small shop. Much more dilapidated than anything else in the city. It was <em> ancient </em> , even, by the city’s standards. Bellamy couldn’t help but mentally muse that you’d probably still find places like it back in DC, but definitely not <em> here </em>. Not in this land of hyper-advanced technology.</p><p> </p><p>He drifted toward it, the people around him losing focus as he moved with a renewed sense of urgency.</p><p> </p><p>It appeared to be closed, the light inside shut off, yet something told him he needed to go inside.</p><p> </p><p>Standing in front of the entrance, he looked around, his eyes finding the giant window to his right.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Reyes Inc. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Huh. <em> This place </em> was incorporated?</p><p> </p><p>The whispers started again, the sound coming from his left. He looked and saw a small alleyway, unnoticed by the majority of even the few people who had wandered down the small side road.</p><p> </p><p>He looked around, making certain no one was following him, before he ducked into the dark space.</p><p> </p><p>Up ahead there was another entrance, lit only by a small lamp attached to the wall next to the door.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at the door, he saw that there was a large emblem carved into the wood. A moon and sun intertwined in a circle, stars surrounding the icons.</p><p> </p><p>He lifted his hand to trace the carvings with his fingers and when he did, the door opened.</p><p> </p><p>Jumping back, he lowered his hand back to his side and waited.</p><p> </p><p>But nothing happened.</p><p> </p><p>There was no one there.</p><p> </p><p>He pushed open the door all the way and stared.</p><p> </p><p>Darkness.</p><p> </p><p>He swallowed, suddenly petrified of what was happening to him.</p><p> </p><p>Walking beyond the doorway he looked around, his hands tracing the walls until finally, he found a light switch. He flicked it on.</p><p> </p><p>It was a workshop.</p><p> </p><p>Obviously whoever worked here, worked <em> hard </em>. And they… created things?</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t quite tell.</p><p> </p><p>The whispers started again and he turned to his left to find a door. Walking slowly toward it, he noticed the whispers were getting louder.</p><p> </p><p>When his hand touched the doorknob, they ceased completely.</p><p> </p><p>Twisting it in his palm, he felt his heart rate accelerate as he gripped it and opened it outwards.</p><p> </p><p>On the other side was a desk.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His grandfather’s desk? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But wait, no, that was impossible. His grandfather’s desk was back in his basement, gathering dust in his absence.</p><p> </p><p>But this one - This desk. It was its twin.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His grandfather’s desk was Illorian made. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He walked into the room, his hands finding the papers covering the surface, his eyes drinking in as much as he could see.</p><p> </p><p>There was too much at once, so many things he wanted to read. Interesting things about magic and prophecies and-</p><p> </p><p>There.</p><p> </p><p>A journal.</p><p> </p><p>Leather bound.</p><p> </p><p>He picked it up, turning it over in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>The front was simple. A beautiful etching of astilbe flowers surrounding the lettering: <em> The Keeper. </em></p><p> </p><p>The air stilled in the room as he took it in, his breath whooshing out of his chest along with it.</p><p> </p><p>He opened the book, the yellowed pages seemed to suddenly start glowing in his palms.</p><p> </p><p>On the front page was an inscription written in tiny scrawled handwriting.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em> From the shadows, he will come, the Awakened. </em>
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    <em> He who will bring great change to all that is known. </em>
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    <em> For he will be born of two faces. </em>
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    <em> And he will lay waste to the wisdom of the throne. </em>
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</blockquote><p> </p><p>The Awakened.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.” a voice startled him from his reading. “Well that was easier than I thought it would be.”</p><p> </p><p>Turning around, he came face to face with a very amused looking woman, her arms crossed over her chest as she took him in.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome to the Shop, Awakened one.”</p><p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Still Waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry I'm a day late!</p><p>I had some stuff come up with my family yesterday and I wasn't able to finish the chapter in time. I tried typing on my phone but... that's a very small keyboard.</p><p>Anywho.</p><p>Hope you forgive me.</p><p>ALSO.</p><p>Hope you're ready for some answers!</p><p>... and more questions.</p><p>As always.</p><p>See you on the flip side ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <b>Chapter 4 - Still Waiting</b>
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</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s eyebrows furrowed as he took in the woman standing in the doorway. She was taller, her dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail, arms crossed in front of her chest. Leaning against the door jamb, she smirked and her eyebrows raised at his confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“What? Haven’t had time to figure all this out?” she gestured to the piles of papers and texts strewn around the room.</p><p> </p><p>He looked around him until his eyes finally landed on the journal and then lifted to meet her stare once more.</p><p> </p><p>“Not really.” he drawled. “Wanna fill me in?”</p><p> </p><p>The girl rolled her eyes, pushing off the wall and standing squarely in the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>“Duh.” she stepped forward, reaching out her hand for him to shake. “Raven Reyes. Owner of this little shop you just happened to break into.”</p><p> </p><p>It was Bellamy’s turn to roll his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t break in.” he swallowed. “The door was open.”</p><p> </p><p>She pursed her lips, considering this information.</p><p> </p><p>“Well that’s interesting, considering I locked it firmly before I left.” she turned and left the room milling back into the shop he passed through before.</p><p> </p><p>He followed after her, bringing the journal with him into the brighter area, his eyes adjusting from the dim lighting in the small office.</p><p> </p><p>“Well then, maybe someone else broke in before I got here.” he pointed back at the office. “Where did that desk come from?”</p><p> </p><p>Raven busied herself, bustling around in the drawers of a different workstation.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been in my family for over a century.” she shrugged. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy considered this, deciding that she seemed trustworthy enough before he spoke the truth.</p><p> </p><p>“Because my great great grandfather had one just like it.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven stopped rustling and turned around once more, eyebrows raised again, hands landing on her hips.</p><p> </p><p>“Well. Aren’t you just full of surprises, Awakened One.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy huffed.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you keep calling me that? Who are these Awakened people? First that Murphy guy, now you. Is anyone ever going to actually tell me what’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>Raven sighed and reached forward, grabbing the journal from his hands before turning it open to the page he had been studying before she arrived.</p><p> </p><p>“‘From the shadows, he will come, the Awakened.’” she quoted. “That’s you.” </p><p> </p><p>Bellamy took a few moments to collect himself, mouth inadvertently opening and closing several times before he responded.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh? No, it’s not. What even is that text?”</p><p> </p><p>Raven chuckled. </p><p> </p><p>“Believe me, I went through my own period of denial about this whole prophecy business, but when The Keeper’s warnings started to come true, I got on board the truth train.”</p><p> </p><p>At that, Bellamy stood up straighter, his mind racing with questions.</p><p> </p><p>“The Keeper. Who is The Keeper? What are they keeping?” he began, the words spilling out before he could catch them. “That’s the same person my grandfather wrote about.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven pursed her lips, her fingers tapping at her forearm where they were crossed together.</p><p> </p><p>“How about this.” she offered. “You tell me what you know, I’ll tell you what I know, and then I get you someplace where you won’t be killed.”</p><p> </p><p>He thought about it for about a second before he nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds good.”</p><p> </p><p>She gestured for him to follow her to the side of the room where there was a small sofa and the two of them sat facing one another on opposite ends of the couch.</p><p> </p><p>“You first.” she demanded.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“My great great grandfather’s desk sits in our basement with the rest of his belongings. I’ve spent the majority of my life trying to decipher them to-” he stopped, wondering if he should reveal his hand about Octavia. He already regretted mentioning her to Murphy. What if these people weren’t the good guys? Murphy did hand him over to someone who <em> he </em> claimed was out to get him. How good could they be? “Figure out why he was cast out of society. He wrote about this place. Illoria. All about the technology you possess and how wonderful it is. He spent the rest of his life trying to get back to it but never succeeding. Eventually, he settled down in a DC suburb and tried to convince people he wasn’t crazy.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven simply looked at him, her brain obviously working a mile a minute.</p><p> </p><p>“He had relics too. Ones I studied.” he took the necklace from his pocket, hand shaking slightly. “Like this one.”</p><p> </p><p>He held it out for Raven to hold and when she took it in her palm, her eyes widened imperceptibly. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you recognize it?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>She hummed her assent.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve seen this emblem.” she admitted. “I can take you to it.” she handed it back to him. “After you finish.”</p><p> </p><p>He took it back from her and placed it in his pocket again.</p><p> </p><p>“A couple of days ago, the whispers started. These weird disembodied voices that showed me a passage in my grandfather’s journal I had never seen before. It said <em> “When the tide is at its highest, head north beyond the bluffs and into the sea. The lady awaits by the great green stone, searching for The Key. The Keeper.” </em>” he quoted. “Then a little later, I had some sort of-” he blew out his breath. “Vision? I guess? It was weird. It was-” he hesitated again. </p><p> </p><p>For some reason, he didn’t want to reveal that the vision had been of Clarke. He wasn’t sure why, but something told him not to.</p><p> </p><p>“Strange. So I took that passage and some coordinates I found in my research on the island and made my way here.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven leaned back against the couch, watching him closely.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s an interesting story.” she responded finally. “I could understand why you would have a lot of questions.”</p><p> </p><p>He wondered if she could tell that he wasn’t revealing all his cards. She seemed skeptical by nature but he just wasn’t sure who to trust yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Well. Mine is a little bit longer of a story.” she began. “But I guess we can start with that.” she nodded toward the journal in his hands. “That’s the journal of The Keeper.”</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to make some smart ass comment about how he could <em> see </em> that, but he didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“The <em> Keeper </em> is a mystical figure in Illorian lore who, over a century ago, foresaw the end of our kingdom. That prophecy,” she nodded at the book once more. “Is the word of the Keeper of the prophecy. She foretold that one day, a man would come - <em> The Awakened </em>- and he would bring lasting change to our society, an end to the monarchy.”</p><p> </p><p>Looking down at the book in his hands, he flipped it over once, twice, before looking up again.</p><p> </p><p>“And you think <em> I’m </em> The Awakened?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “ <em> Why? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>She sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, for starters, you're the first person to wake up from a medically-induced sleep in over a hundred years.” she smirked. “Oh, and The Keeper told me you were coming.”</p><p> </p><p>He blanched.</p><p> </p><p>“But I thought The Keeper lived over a century ago?”</p><p> </p><p>Raven smiled an actual smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well, apparently she passed down the burden of her position to a new generation and each Keeper after her has done the same. We hadn’t actually heard from a Keeper in decades until recently. Many believed that the line had ended somewhere along the way. You see, the Keeper believed she was personally responsible for ensuring that the prophecy came to pass.</p><p> </p><p>She seemed to be lost in thought, her eyes glazing over, but Bellamy couldn’t help but interrupt .</p><p> </p><p>“Wait. The Keeper <em> wanted </em> the end of the kingdom? <em> Why? </em>” he couldn’t fathom why someone would hope for the demise of their own civilization.</p><p> </p><p>“She didn’t necessarily want the end of our people, but she wanted an end to the way things were...<em> are. </em>” she paused. “You see, things were changing during her time. People were dividing up and many Illorians were forced out of the city and made to survive on their own. People who were… different.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s hands squeezed around the journal, the thought of so many people being segregated for different bringing about newfound anger. Apparently, hate existed everywhere - even on hidden islands.</p><p> </p><p>“Different?” his voice was deep, cracked.</p><p> </p><p>“Magical.” she confirmed. “Magical people. You see, the non-magical feared them. They had for many, many years, which is why they pushed so hard to innovate beyond the wildest of imaginations. They were trying to “keep up” with the magical so to speak. They resented their non-magical heritage. Eventually, the hate grew so strong, they forced the magical out. They built iron walls to keep them away after they figured out that iron weakens magic.” she swallowed, sadness etched into her features. “The Keeper fought against it until eventually, she had the vision. From that point forward, she made sure that the magical were prepared for The Awakened One. Unfortunately, the king heard of the Prophecy. He began collecting strangers who drifted into the barrier protecting our island. These men are transported to the hospital where the royal physician places them in an induced sleep until it can be determined they are not the man of the prophecy.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The royal physician. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Clarke” he whispered, but apparently not quietly enough.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” she said, her voice clipped. “Clarke, the king’s niece. She’s the current physician. Her job is to identify The Awakened should he arrive so he can be executed before the prophecy can come to pass.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s head shot up at that, taking in the coolness behind Raven’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“But- If they wanted me dead, why wouldn’t they have killed me yet?”</p><p> </p><p>Raven shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“They will. The second you woke up from that sleep, they would have known who you were.” she stated ominously. “They will come for you. But don’t worry, The Awakened will make sure they don’t find you.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I thought <em> I </em> was The Awakened.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven grinned.</p><p> </p><p>“Technically, you are. The Awakened are a group of people among the magical who tasked themselves with protecting The Awakened One once he arrived. They are kind of the leaders of the magical. The group was formed when The Keeper disappeared.” she sighed. “And then she started sending messages a few months ago. The leader of The Awakened is Indra. She did not believe the messages to be from The Keeper at first, but after you arrived, it was hard to deny that The Keeper still exists. Somewhere.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy looked at the journal in his hands once more, his fingers falling along the etchings in the cover.</p><p> </p><p>“Astilbe flowers.” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry?” Raven asked.</p><p> </p><p>He looked up, clearing his throat. </p><p> </p><p>“These flowers.” he held up the journal. “These are the same flowers that are on the medallion.” </p><p> </p><p>Raven’s mouth opened in a gesture of understanding.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know what they mean?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>She shook her head.</p><p> </p><p>“Waiting.” he said. “They mean ‘I’ll be waiting.’”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>He knocked hastily on the wood of the front door, his eyes scanning the houses lining the quaint street of Bellamy’s neighborhood.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing seemed to be out of order except for the small collection of mail in the mailbox hanging next to the door.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy wasn’t answering his phone and now he still wasn’t home?</p><p> </p><p>Miller was worried.</p><p> </p><p>He lifted his hand, knocking again to no avail.</p><p> </p><p>He huffed and reached into his back pocket for the spare key Bellamy had given him in case of emergencies and shoved it into the lock, turning the knob and pushing the door open.</p><p> </p><p>The house was eerily quiet, almost as if the sound had been sucked out of the room. Not even the air was running even though it was a fairly warm day.</p><p> </p><p>He looked around, noting that nothing had changed since the last time he had been at Bellamy’s house and found his note.</p><p> </p><p>So he still wasn’t home.</p><p> </p><p>His hands curled into themselves in frustration. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Why would he do this? Just leave everything on a whim? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He spotted the iPad sitting on the counter and swiped it open, entering the passcode with practiced ease.</p><p> </p><p>Well, he wasn’t just going to <em> let </em> him die in the middle of nowhere. </p><p> </p><p>He opened the “Find my iPhone” program and pinged Bellamy’s phone.</p><p> </p><p>It was turned off.</p><p> </p><p>The last known location was somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Turned off? Why would he turn his cell phone off? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He tapped his knuckles against the top of the kitchen counters before he pushed away, grabbing his keys and leaving the house, slamming the door on his way out.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>“Yeah, he’s here.” Raven confirmed. “We’re going to head your way soon before-”</p><p> </p><p>A knock on the front door made her pause.</p><p> </p><p>She looked at the solid wooden door and swore softly.</p><p> </p><p>“We may have a problem.”</p><p> </p><p>She clicked the button ending the call and Bellamy watched her fidget nervously.</p><p> </p><p>“Raven!” a voice called through the door. “Listen, Raven, I know you’re home. Open up.”</p><p> </p><p>This caused Raven to swear much more before she ran over to where he was still seated on the couch.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell her <em> nothing. </em> Nothing, Bellamy. I mean it. She is <em> not </em> your friend. I know you might think she is. She’s probably very nice, but <em> believe me </em> . She is <em> not </em>the good guy here.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Clarke. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy realized then why he thought the voice on the other side of the door sounded familiar.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re going to come get you. When she takes you to the safe house, stay put. The team will come soon.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s eyes shifted to where his apparent doom was waiting on the other side.</p><p> </p><p>“Before they <em> kill </em> me?” he questioned sharply.</p><p> </p><p>Raven’s eyes narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>She walked quickly over to the front door and flung it open revealing Clarke on the other side.</p><p> </p><p>He felt his breath momentarily leave him in a rush, still so enamoured by how beautiful she was. His mind <em> knew </em> she was dangerous, that she wanted him dead. But somehow, he couldn’t help but be entranced.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke smiled softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Raven.” she nodded her head. “I need Bellamy, please.”</p><p> </p><p>He watched as Raven’s shoulders stiffened.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to do this, Clarke” she tried to reason. “He hasn’t done-”</p><p> </p><p>“Raven.” Clarke cut her off. “Bellamy, please.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven’s fingers gripped the edge of the door tightly before she allowed Clarke to pass her into the room.</p><p> </p><p>When Clarke’s gaze fell on Bellamy, he couldn’t help but feel awash with some sort of inner peace. Acceptance?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Where the fuck is my self preservation? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Bellamy.” she said. “I thought I told you to stay put.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy rose from the couch, towering over her.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you told me you were going to make sure I couldn’t leave.” he pretended to ponder, his fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully. “<em> ‘Watch me’ </em> I believe were your words.”</p><p> </p><p>He saw Clarke’s smile falter and her eyes narrow sharply before she quickly wiped the expression away and carefully replaced it with her usual neutral demeanor.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s go.” she said mildly, gesturing for him to follow her out the door.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy followed after, his eyes finding Raven’s as he passed.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure thing.” he said, carefully allowing himself to watch her as she led him to his death.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>---</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>“You’re being impossible.” Clarke huffed as she led him into the house once again, throwing her belongings on the kitchen counter. “I told you, this is to keep you<em> safe </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well how am I supposed to believe that? Considering the fact I only just met you.” he responded. “How did you even <em> find </em>me at Raven’s, huh? Did you put some sort of tracker on me.”</p><p> </p><p>He watched carefully as Clarke avoided his eyes, pulling bags of food from the refrigerator in quick succession.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not <em> hard </em> to find an outsider on a very small island, Bellamy. I asked a few people and they led me right to you.”</p><p> </p><p>She kept her eyes on the food, unpacking boxes from inside and grabbing napkins from a drawer at the end of the island.</p><p> </p><p>“Right” he answered. “That’s one hundred percent believable.”</p><p> </p><p>He almost jumped as she slammed the drawer shut, threw the napkins on the counter, and glared at him from across the counter.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, you just met <em> Raven </em> too. Why is it that she’s so much more believable than I am?”</p><p> </p><p>His eyebrows raised.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it with you and Raven anyways? Lovers to Enemies?”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke rolled her eyes and pushed one of the food boxes across to him.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s none of your fucking business.” she opened her own food. “Do you even know what group she’s a part of? How dangerous she is?”</p><p> </p><p>He took a bite of his food.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tell her nothing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What? Is she a demented member of the Breakfast Club, coming to kill me in my sleep?”</p><p> </p><p>She let out a furious noise of disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you asshole. She’s a part of a group of revolutionaries who believe in <em> fairy tales </em> and are trying to <em> kill </em> me. So pardon me if she and I aren’t best friends.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy stopped eating at that, placing his fork back in the container. It occurred to him that if Clarke really wanted him dead, she would just need to poison his food.</p><p> </p><p>He cursed himself for his own stupidity.</p><p> </p><p>“Why would she want you dead, princess? You seem so delightful.”</p><p> </p><p>She pushed her food away and walked around the island placing her palm on his chest and pushing him backward.</p><p> </p><p>He looked down at her surprised.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you just push me?” he laughed. “Never would’ve taken you as the hand to hand combat type, Princess.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em> not </em> the princess, ass. I’m a doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>He smirked, righting himself, and closing the distance between the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s right. The <em> Royal Physician </em>. What? Uncle Kane didn’t see fit to give you an actual title of royalty? That’s gotta be a let down, huh? Guess nepotism can only go so far.”</p><p> </p><p>He thought he saw a flash of hurt cross her features but before he could fully process it, her neutral expression was back, almost as if all life had been sucked out of her.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what,” she started. “Enjoy your food, Bellamy.”</p><p> </p><p>She grabbed her bag from where it had been sitting and headed to the front door.</p><p> </p><p>“Try not to escape again.” she turned, eyebrows raised. “Or die.”</p><p> </p><p>She closed the door harshly behind her as he was left pondering her level of seriousness, his heart pounding in his chest and aching as he watched her leave.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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</p><p>She watched the house from the edge of the woods, pondering.</p><p> </p><p>He was back. </p><p> </p><p>She had seen him return earlier, studied him as he followed the physician into the home.</p><p> </p><p>Her heart was beating fast as she watched them, worried for his safety.</p><p> </p><p>She wouldn’t kill him, right? Surely she would send someone else to do her dirty work.</p><p> </p><p>After a few minutes, her toe started tapping on the ground, quietly pondering whether or not she should continue standing and watching from afar or if she should go closer.</p><p> </p><p>Yelling started to drift out of the house and she paused, wondering what on Earth they could be arguing about - Hadn’t they just met?</p><p> </p><p>A few seconds later, the front door opened and Clarke walked out, her hair drifting behind her as she exited. She leaned back against the door, her hand coming up to rest against her chest where her heart lay.</p><p> </p><p>She stayed like for a beat before she seemed to collect herself and pushed away, walking slowly down the trail and toward the transporter gateway.</p><p> </p><p>Well.</p><p> </p><p>At least he seemed to be alive for now.</p><p> </p><p>When would The Awakened arrive? They had been warned much earlier in the day.</p><p> </p><p><em> Oh well. </em> she thought. <em> I’ll just stay here until they arrive. </em></p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Raven rushed through the gates at the entrance to the Outpost and made her way through the crowded streets, her hastiness much more pronounced than usual.</p><p> </p><p>“Indra!” she called, spotting the woman at the edge of town. “Indra! We have to go <em> now. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Indra turned then, regal as ever in one of her fancy gowns.</p><p> </p><p>“Now?” she answered. “Why the rush? I thought he was in your-”</p><p> </p><p>“She has him.” Raven interrupted. “Somehow, she knew where he was and she came and got him. She took him back to the safe house.”</p><p> </p><p>Indra nodded and turned to the girl she had been speaking with.</p><p> </p><p>“Ready the horses. We ride as soon as possible.”</p><p> </p><p>The girl nodded and ran to the stables.</p><p> </p><p>“And Indra.” Raven said again, grabbing Indra’s arm before she could leave. “He- He mentioned that he’s had.. visions.”</p><p> </p><p>Indra stopped still, her eyebrows conveying her interest.</p><p> </p><p>“Well.” she started. “That <em> is </em> interesting, isn’t it.” Indra pursed her lips. “And did he mention what the visions were of?”</p><p> </p><p>Raven shook her head. </p><p> </p><p>“No. But why would he have visions? I don’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>Indra appeared to be in thought. Raven watched the dots connect behind her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t quite know.” she admitted. “But we will never know if we don’t go retrieve him.”</p><p> </p><p>She rushed away, beckoning Raven with her.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven nodded and started moving, but her eyes found Murphy’s who was standing at the edge of the town, his hand clasped around a piece of paper.</p><p> </p><p>She sent him a questioning look, but he merely smirked and set the paper on fire before he vanished without a trace.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Clarke could hear voices on the other side of the door, Kane and his advisors. Undoubtedly they were planning Bellamy’s execution and her palms grew sweaty at just the thought.</p><p> </p><p>He was so… different than she had expected.</p><p> </p><p>She had seen so many men in the hospital bed over the years, waiting for one to awaken, and they never did.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know why she expected him to be some gruff, older man with a serious disposition, but he was very much <em> not </em> that.</p><p> </p><p>He was… <em> handsome </em> in a roguish sort of way. And smart. And…</p><p> </p><p>Unexpected.</p><p> </p><p>She startled as the doors in front of her suddenly opened, her uncle standing on the other side.</p><p> </p><p>“Clarke” he said, his voice its usual softness with a sharp edge. “Join us.”</p><p> </p><p>She entered the room slowly, her feet hesitating as her brain did. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me.” he commanded, sitting in his chair at the head of the table once more. “Have you retrieved our visitor?”</p><p> </p><p>Staring at her uncle across the room, she wished she could just lie. Tell him that Bellamy had escaped, that he’d left the island before she could find him.</p><p> </p><p>But she couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, uncle.”</p><p> </p><p>She watched as his grin grew, his teeth shiny white. This was always when she found him scariest. When he found pleasure in the misfortune of others.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, it’s the only reason he kept her around in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>He rose suddenly from his seat and she jolted slightly, watching him warily as he crossed the room toward her. She stiffened when he brought his hands up and dropped them onto her shoulders, his fingertips digging in too smartly to not be intentional.</p><p> </p><p>She expertly hid her discomfort and pretended to be pleased when he congratulated her.</p><p> </p><p>“You did so well, niece. Your parents would be so proud of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Grinding her teeth together, she remained silent, reminding herself of why she must not speak.</p><p> </p><p>Why she must obey.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>“No boats??” Miller asked incredulously. “No way. You guys are an <em> island. </em> How is it possible you don’t have a boat? Not a <em> single boat? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“I-it’s a very busy time for us right now, sir. See, it’s currently our festival of-”</p><p> </p><p>Miller cut the poor man off with a raised hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, I really don’t care. I’m going to find someone more useful.”</p><p> </p><p>He pushed off the airport’s transportation desk and made his way outside. </p><p> </p><p>The tiny little island really didn’t leave a lot of space on the shore, ports lining the sand. True to the man’s word, many of the ports were empty.</p><p> </p><p>All but one.</p><p> </p><p>He ran through the crowd of people lining the boardwalk and made his way to the boat, his eyes drawing in as he realized that there didn’t appear to be anyone on the boat.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, a head popped up from below deck, and a man climbed up a ladder to meet him.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I help you?” the man asked.</p><p> </p><p>Miller nodded, shoving a piece of paper toward the man in question.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’ll pay you if you can take me here.”</p><p> </p><p>The man took the paper and looked down at the scrawled coordinates that Bellamy had left him.</p><p> </p><p>He could swear he saw the man smirk before he handed him the paper again.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, I can take you there. Wait here, I need to refuel.”</p><p> </p><p>The strange man started to walk away and Miller stopped him.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh sure. What was your name again?”</p><p> </p><p>This time, the man turned around and raised his sunglasses, a smirk firmly in place.</p><p> </p><p>“You can call me Murphy.”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Bellamy waited anxiously, pacing back and forth across the living room floor wondering what his options were.</p><p> </p><p>He could stay here and wait, play this whole thing out and see if Clarke actually sold him out.</p><p> </p><p>Or he could try and make a run for it.</p><p> </p><p>But where would he even go?</p><p> </p><p>He thought about what Raven said. About the magical ones living outside the city, beyond the iron wall. Could he make it there? That same instinct that had been guiding him this entire time told him that he could trust those people.</p><p> </p><p>Granted, they thought he was there to overthrow their government and truly, the last thing he wanted to do was get involved with international revolutionaries.</p><p> </p><p>But the same instinct told him to trust Clarke too.</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe that wasn’t instinct.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe that was his weakness.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t seem evil to him. She seemed sad. Like she had a lot to hide, but not evil.</p><p> </p><p>His fingers traced the books lining the bookcase along the wall. Texts about the history of Illoria and various other countries throughout the world littered the shelves.</p><p> </p><p>He found himself only vaguely surprised that they would have texts about other lands considering they seemed to be an intensely private nation.</p><p> </p><p>They had a barrier protecting them from outsiders, after all. And not just the magical folk. If what he understood from Raven was true, then the Illorians were responsible for the stories of the Bermuda Triangle. Strange tellings from pilots and sailors about getting lost at sea. Some disappearing altogether and some showing up in Florida hospitals, unsure of how they got there.</p><p> </p><p>Not only that, but they kidnapped these people and put them to sleep until they knew they weren’t a threat to their way of life.</p><p> </p><p>It was  all very intense and Bellamy had no idea what he had gotten himself into. He just wanted to find Octavia, not play a major part in a civil war that had been over a century in the making.</p><p> </p><p>What he still couldn’t figure out was what his grandfather had to do with all of this. He didn’t seem to be the same victim of circumstance as those in the triangle stories. He had an Illorian desk and relics. Relics that Bellamy still didn’t know how to make sense of. And how did his grandfather even get a <em> desk </em> back to DC?</p><p> </p><p>The more he learned, the more he was finding that there seemed to be <em> gaps </em> in his grandfather’s writings. Almost like he had deliberately left things out. Or maybe things he just didn’t <em> know. </em></p><p> </p><p>Bellamy felt like his mind was a whirlwind, processing information, but struggling to see where all the pieces connected.</p><p> </p><p>All he knew at that moment was that there was an entire group of people out there who dedicated themselves to protecting him. Should he trust that they were going to come for him? And where was The Keeper? If the duty of The Keeper was to make sure the prophecy came to pass, you would think that they would take a more active role in ensuring that he stay <em> alive </em>, at the very least.</p><p> </p><p>His breath hitched as suddenly his vision was hijacked, images flashing before him. He watched as people dressed in riot gear invaded the safe house, some type of weapon in their hands that Bellamy had never seen before. They burst through the door off the kitchen and infiltrated the room, searching for him.</p><p> </p><p>Just as suddenly, he was back in the living room, swaying on the spot as his vision returned to him.</p><p> </p><p>He knew now that these visions were… the future. At least if his vision of Clarke was anything to go by.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly, he gathered a couple of things into a bag he found in the hall closet and prepared himself to go on the run. He would find the iron wall and he would find a way over it, under it, around it, <em> something. </em></p><p> </p><p>Apparently, Clarke had told her uncle he was still alive and he wasn’t about to stick around and find out if they were there to <em> kill </em> him or to take him <em> somewhere else </em> to kill him.</p><p> </p><p>Shoving some food into the bag, he slung it over his shoulder and ran to the same window as before only to find that it had been locked.</p><p> </p><p>He swore, not knowing what to do.</p><p> </p><p>He looked around the room searching for anything that could help him escape.</p><p> </p><p>Finding a sturdy looking metal chair, he threw it against the window, bracing himself for the blowback of the glass shatter, but… it never came.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes widened as he realized that the glass couldn’t be broken.</p><p> </p><p>What the <em> fuck? </em> Where the fuck <em> was </em>he?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bellamy </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The voice.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bellamy, the necklace. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head, his hands patting down his pockets until he came across the necklace. He pulled it out and saw that the emblem was glowing once more. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know what to do with it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Trust yourself. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The voice sounded soothing, as if it could sense his anxiety.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the loud sound of the front door breaking open sounded from across the house.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> NOW, BELLAMY. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He held the necklace up, pointing it to the window, and watched in awe as a stream of light burst forth from the emblem. It pierced the window and suddenly, the window shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, not even a shred of glass left in the frame.</p><p> </p><p>Hastily, he ran up to the ledge and flung himself through, landing on his feet on the other side.</p><p> </p><p>Something jerked him to the left, and he looked up to see someone dressed in a black robe, face hidden by a hooded cloak. They were pulling him in the direction of the trees.</p><p> </p><p>“What-” he started to say but the voice pulled him harder, urging him to move.</p><p> </p><p>“We have to <em> go, </em> Bellamy.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, that same pesky instinct telling him to listen as he ran, following the hooded figure into the trees.</p><p> </p><p>They reached the iron wall a mere five minutes later and he watched as his rescuer pulled some sort of instrument out of their pocket and stuck it to the iron surface. An odd sort of mirage appeared and suddenly he was seeing through to the other side.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes widened but he followed after the shadowed figure as they hopped through. The person turned to retrieve the device once they stood on solid ground again and watched as the iron reappeared.</p><p> </p><p>Motioning Bellamy to follow, they pulled out a sword and some sort of electronic torch, lighting their way as they moved further into the darkness of the trees.</p><p> </p><p>Surely, they were safe at this point, Bellamy reasoned. Where were they going?</p><p> </p><p>He watched as the hooded figure stopped suddenly and he barely had time to follow suit. They reached out and pushed a hand into the air until it seemed to stop against an invisible wall and then… it fell through.</p><p> </p><p>His rescuer jumped through what he came to realize was an invisible barrier before they turned and beckoned him to follow.</p><p> </p><p>He looked back, eyeing the distance where he knew the king’s men were waiting for him and considered his options.</p><p> </p><p>“I swear to God, Bellamy, if you don’t come through this barrier, I’m going to come back through and pull your ass in myself.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes narrowed at the voice, realizing that the person was a woman and tried to place where he knew them.</p><p> </p><p>He reached up, his own hand finding the invisible wall and then he was falling through.</p><p> </p><p>It was as if a cold bucket of water had been poured on top of his head. </p><p> </p><p>He gasped and fell to his knees, his eyes closing at the unexpected sensation.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you get used to it.” the same voice said.</p><p> </p><p>He looked up and watched as the hooded figure pushed back their hood.</p><p> </p><p>He blinked, almost certain he was dreaming as his eyes took in the face revealed behind the cloak.</p><p> </p><p>She grinned.</p><p> </p><p>“Took you long enough, big brother.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dun dun duuuuuuuuuun.</p><p>OCTAVIA!</p><p>SHE'S ALIVE! SHE'S ON ILLORIA! SHE'S... OLD.</p><p>lmao.</p><p>For those who don't like math, Octavia is now 23 years old. She's been on Illoria for 16 years.</p><p>Also, for those of you who like symbolism and hints of foreshadowing, this chapter is chock FULL.</p><p>Actually, pretty much every chapter is, but still. One day, when this is over, you'll be able to go back and reread this much like people did A Greater Pursuit and see things that you didn't see the first time.</p><p>But that's it for this week.</p><p>Leave me a comment and let me know what you're thinking! Were you right about some things?? Wrong?? Any predictions??</p><p>I want to know ALL the things.</p><p>See you next week!</p><p>-Mally</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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